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WOMEN 


OF 


BEAUTY  AND  HEROISM 


FEOM  SEMIRAMIS  TO  EUGENIE. 


A  PORTRAIT  GALLERY 


<|i;inuU    itokliiuss,  ^rlji^btnunt  ait^   |iifhuiu£. 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH   NINETEEN  ENGRAVINGS  ON   STEEL, 

FROM    ORIGINAL    DESIGNS    BY    CHAMPAGNE    AND    WANDESFORDE. 


BY    FRANK    B.    GOODRICH, 


ADTHOB  OF  "THK  COURT  OF  NAPOLEON. 


NEW    YORK: 
DERBY    &    JACKSON,    119    NASSAU    STREET. 


M  DOOO  LIX. 


Entered  accordJDg  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S5S,  by 

PRANK    B.    GOODUICU, 

111  tin;  Ck-rk'a  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlie  UniteQ  States  for  the  Soutliern   District  of  New  Yorlt. 


■     'SOEO.  IllWKI.I,   fc   CO.,  PRINTEKS.^' 


^^^^5^ 


TINSON,  STEKEOTVrEU. 


SOMERVILLB  &  BRO.,  BINDERS. 


ZZ      00/30-^5^1-^ 


5" 


CONTENTS. 


SEMIRAMIS. 

A  cautious  Exordium — The  Goddess  Derceto  and  the  Assyrian  Venus — The  Foundling  Hospital 
of  the  Classics — Semiramis  nursed  by  Pigeons — Discovered  and  educated  by  the  King's 
Intendant — Her  Marriage — Is  summoned  to  the  Camp — Becomes  a  Widow  and  marries  the 
King — Her  Accession  to  the  Throne — Her  Achievements — She  embellishes  Babylon — The 
Babylonish  Lake — The  Temple  of  Belus — The  Oracle  of  Jupiter  Ammon — Semiramis  invades 
the  Territories  of  Stabrobates — A  Battle  in  the  Indus — Defeat  and  Death  of  Semiramis — 
Her  Tomb — Interpretation  to  be  placed  upon  her  Story, 13 

PENELOPE. 

Birth  of  Penelope  and  Marriage  with  Ulysses — Paris,  Helen  and  the  Trojan  War — Ulysses  is 
summoned  to  Ilium  and  is  absent  Twenty  Tears — Penelope  is  importuned  by  Suitors — She 
repulses  them  by  various  ingenious  Devices — Penelope's  Web — Her  Letter  to  Ulysses — The 
Suitors  become  impatient — Antinoiis — Medon — Irus  —  Melanthius — Their  Extravagance — 
Ulysses  returns  in  Disguise — Is  regaled  with  a  Pork  Steak,  and  is  recognized  by  his  Dog 
Argus— He  begs  at  his  own  Table — Overpowers  the  Mendicant  Irus  in  single  Fight — Inter- 
view of  Penelope  and  the  Suitors — The  Presents  of  the  latter — Penelope  is  forced  to  choose 
a  Husband  from  one  hundred  and  eight  Aspirants — Minerva  suggests  a  Mode  of  baffling 
them — Penelope  proposes  a  Tournament  with  the  Bow  and  Arrow — Terrible  Battle  between 
Ulysses,  Minerva,  Telemachus  and  Eumaeus,  on  the  one  Side,  and  the  one  hundred  and  eight 
on  the  other — Astounding  Result  of  this  unequal  Fight — Fidelity  of  Penelope  rewarded,        27 

CORNELIA. 

The  Family  of  Scipio  Africanus — Cornelia's  Marriage — Her  Character — The  Education  of  her 
Children — A  Prodigy  and  its  Interpretation — Death  of  Tiberius— Successive  Deaths  of  nine 
of  Cornelia's  Children — Her  Rejection  of  the  Hand  of  Ptolemy  Physco — Cornelia's  .Jewels — 
Marriage  of  her  Son  Tiberius  and  of  her  Daughter  Sempronia — The  Licinian  Law — A  Sedi- 
tion— Death  of  Tiberius — The  Mother  of  the  Gracchi — Caius  is  made  Tribune — A  Collision — 
Fall  of  Caius  Gracchus — Closing  Years  of  the  Life  of  Cornelia,       .        .        .        .        .43 


1CS9115 


IV  CONTENTS. 

ZENOBIA. 

Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness — War  between  Rome  and  Persia — Interference  of  Odcnatus,  a  Pal- 
myreuian  Senator — ^Ile  receives  tlic  Title  of  Associate  Augustus — Zenobia — Her  Cliaraeter 
and  Personal  Appearance — Death  of  Odenatus — Zenobia  ascends  the  Throne — The  Policy  of 
her  Reign — She  assumes  the  Title  of  Queen  of  the  East — Aurelian  resolves  to  humble  her 
Pride — He  marches  against  her — The  Dogs  of  Tyana — The  Battles  of  Antioch  and  Emesa — 
Zenobia  defeated — The  Siege  of  Palmyra — Aurclian's  Letter  to  the  Roman  People — Zenobia's 
Dispatch  to  Aurelian — Her  Flight  from  Palmyra — Her  Capture — The  Fate  of  Longinus,  her 
Counsellor — Zenobia  is  taken  to  Rome  to  grace  Aurelian's  Triumph — A  Barbarous  Pageant— 
Zenobia  led  in  Fetters  through  the  Streets — Her  Exile  at  Tibur — The  Modern  Traveller  at 
TivoU, 57 

BEATRICE. 

The  Birth  of  Beatrice  Portinari — Her  Meeting  with  Dante — His  Love — Her  Marriage  to  another 
and  early  Death — The  Vita  Nuova — Dante's  Determination  to  hush  his  Muse  till  he  can  Sing 
of  Beatrice  more  worthily — The  Performance  of  his  Vow — The  Divina  Commedia-^The  Nine 
Circles  of  Hell — ^The  Mount  of  Purgatory — The  Purgation  of  the  Seven  Mortal  Sins — Tho 
Terrestrial  Paradise — The  Approach  of  Beatrice — The  Ten  Heavens — The  Harmony  of  the 
Spheres — The  Empyrean — A  Gaze  at  the  Great  Mystery — The  Brow  of  Beatrice  bound  with 
Dante's  Laurel, 73 

JOAN  DARC. 

The  Orthography  of  the  Name  of  Joan  Pare — Her  Birth  and  Childhood — Her  Contemplations — 
The  Superstitions  of  her  Village — A  Legend  of  the  Enchanter  Merlin — Unhappy  Condition 
of  the  Country — Charles  VII.  and  Agnes  Sorel — Joan  and  her  Family  driven  from  Home — 
Joan's  Visions — Her  Interviews  with  St.  Michael — She  Visits  Baudricourt  at  Vaucouleurs — 
Is  regarded  as  a  Witch — A  Priest  performs  the  Ceremony  of  Purification — Joan  is  summoned 
by  the  King  to  Chinon — Her  Journey — She  recognizes  Charles  VII.  among  his  Courtiers — 
She  is  examined  by  the  University  and  the  Parliament — The  Verdict  of  the  Council — The 
Ordeal  of  Maidenhood — Joan  is  equipped  for  Battle — She  joins  the  Army  and  reforms  the 
Morals  of  the  Camp — Her  Arrival  at  Orleans — CoUision  with  the  English — Joan's  uncon- 
scious Profanity — The  Conflict  of  the  8th  of  May — Deliverance  of  Orleans — Joan  rejoins  the 
King — She  engages  to  crown  him  at  Rheims — The  Pilgrimage  thither — The  Consecration — 
Termination  of  Joan's  Mission — Her  Error  in  remaining  with  the  Army — Unsuccessful  Siege 
of  Paris — Her  Capture  at  Compiigne — She  is  given  up  to  the  EngUsh  and  is  tried  for  Sorcery 
— Details  of  the  Trial — She  disconcerts  her  Judges — Easter  Sunday  in  Joan's  Cell — ^A  Mock 
Execution — The  Parody  of  St.  Oueu — Her  Condemnation  to  the  Stake — Horrible  Scene  at 
her  Martyrdom — The  Mitre  of  the  Inquisition — The  miserable  Deaths  of  her  Persecutors — 
The  Rehabilitation  of  her  Memory — The  Pageant  of  1855 — Reflections,         .        .        .81 

ISABELLA. 

Birth  and  Childhood  of  Isabella — Her  proposed  Union  with  Don  Pedro  Giron — The  Civil  War 

Attempted   Dethronement  of  King  Henry — Isabella's  Refusal  to  accept  the  Crown — Her 

Suitors — Ferdinand  of  Aragon — Ili.s  Meeting  with   Isabella — Their  Personal  Appearance 

Their   Marriage — Death   of  Henry— Isabella    proclaimed    Queen  —  The  Battle   of   Toro 


CONTENTS.  V 

Isabella's  Schcmeg  of  Reform— The  Establishment  of  the  Inquisition — The  War  against  the 
Moors — Capture  of  Alhama — Siege  and  Surrender  of  Malaga — Reduction  of  Baza — Siege  of 
Granada — Building  of  Santa  Fe — The  Hebrews  contribute  Moneys  for  the  Extirpation  of 
Saracen  Unbelievers — Expulsion  of  the  Jews — The  Voyages  and  Discoveries  of  Christopher 
Columbus — Marriage  of  Isaljclla's  son  John  and  of  her  daughter  Isabella — Tlieir  Deatlis — 
Birth  of  Charles  V. — Incipient  Insanity  of  Joanna,  Isabella's  second  Daughter — Decline  of 
Isabella's  Health — Her  Will — Her  Death — Reflections  upon  her  Reign,   ....  129 

DIANA  DE  POITIERS. 

Diana's  Residence  at  the  Court  of  Francis  I. — Her  Liaison  with  Henry,  Dulse  of  Orleans — Con- 
sequent Scenes  in  the  Palace — Henry  becomes  Dauphin  and  assumes  Diana's  Colors — He 
ascends  the  Throne,  and  marries  Catherine  de  Medicis — The  Queen  and  the  Favorite — The 
Royal  H  entwined  witli  the  Patrician  D — Diana  still  Beautiful  at  the  Age  of  Fifty — Description 
of  her  Appearance — The  Death  of  the  King  and  Fall  of  Diana — Her  Unconscious  Tribute  to 
the  Supremacy  of  Virtue, 165 

ANNE  BOLEYN. 

Origin  of  the  Family  of  Anne  Boleyn — Her  Birth  and  Education — Her  Residence  in  France — 
She  is  summoued  to  England  to  marry  Piers  Butler — She  engages  herself  to  Henry,  Lord 
Percy — Henry  VIII.  becomes  enamored  of  her  and  forbids  her  Union  with  Percy — Tlie  latter 
is  dismissed  from  Court — The  King  makes  an  Avowal  to  Anne — His  Repulse — Anne  absents 
herself  for  four  Tears — Change  in  her  Character  and  Conduct — Henry  determines  to  win  her 
as  a  Wife,  and  to  obtain  a  Divorce  from  his  Queen — A  Pestilence  recalls  him  to  a  Sense  of 
his  Iniquities — He  malses  thirty-nine  Wills — The  Queen  is  exiled  to  Greenwich — Scandal  liusy 
with  Anne's  Name — Fall  of  Wolsey — Nupti.ils  of  Henry  and  Anne — Pageants  in  Honor  of  the 
Event — Birth  of  EUzabeth — Execution  of  Sir  Thomas  More — The  Reformation — Inconstancy 
of  the  King — Jane  Seymour — Decline  of  Anne's  Favor — She  is  accused  of  Adultery  and 
imprisoned — Her  Appeal  to  the  King — Her  Trial  and  Conviction — The  Execution  of  her 
alleged  Paramours — Her  last  Hour — Her  Execution — The  King  awaits  the  Signal  Gun,  that 
he  may  wed  Jane  Seymour — Character  of  Anne  Boleyn — Her  Influence  in  aid  of  the  Trans- 
lation of  the  Scriptures, 161 

MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

Birth  of  Mary  Stuart — Her  Coronation  at  the  Age  of  nine  Months — Her  Residence  at  Linlithgow 
and  Inchmahome — She  is  sent  to  France — Her  Desire  to  take  the  Veil— Her  Education  and 
Accomplishments — Her  Marriage  with  the  Dauphin — Her  Beauty — Her  Claim  to  the  English 
Throne — She  becomes  Queen  of  France — Her  Return  to  Scotland — Her  Dismay  at  the 
Poverty  of  the  Land — She  oSends  John  Knox — Her  Occupations — Her  Second  Marriage — 
Henry  Lord  Darnley — The  Assassination  of  Rizzio — Birth  of  James  I.  of  England — Envious 
Speech  of  Queen  Elizabeth — The  Earl  of  Bothwell — His  Plot  to  murder  Darnley — Its  Execu- 
tion— Trial  and  Acquittal  of  Bothwell — His  Marriage  witli  Mary — They  separate  at  Carbcrry 
Hill — Mary  at  Loch  Leveu — She  is  forced  to  abdicate — Her  Escape — Tlie  Battle  of  Langside 
— Mary  throws  herself  upon  the  Generosity  of  Elizabeth — Her  Trial  for  Complicity  in  the 
Murder  of  Darnley — Her  eighteen  Months'  Captivity— Babington's  Plot — ^Mary's  Trial  as  an 
Accessory — Her  Defence  and  Conviction— The  Execution — The  Verdict  of  Posterity,     .  \S1 


vi  CONTENTS. 

POCAHONTAS. 

Captain  John  Smith  in  Virginia— The  Hostility  of  the  Emperor  Powh.itan— Smith  is  taken 
Prisoner  by  Opechancanough — He  is  saved  by  the  Intervention  of  a  Pocket  Compass — He  is 
taken  to  the  Residence  of  Powhatan — The  Queen  of  Apamatuck  and  Matoaka,  the  Snow- 
feather — The  latter  saves  Smith's  Life — Her  Name  is  changed  to  Pocahontas — She  Visits  the 
English  Fort  and  turns  Summersets  with  the  Boys — She  befriends  Smith,  and  a,  second  Time 
saves  his  Life — An  Indian  "  Anticke  " — Smith  leaves  the  Colony — Pocahontas  forsakes  her 
Father — She  is  decoyed  on  board  an  English  Ship,  and  is  detained  a  Prisoner — Powhatan 
refuses  to  ransom  her — She  remains  two  Years,  and  falls  in  Love — Her  Baptism — Powhatan 
consents  to  her  Maniage — The  Ceremony  at  Jamestown — Pocahontas  visits  England — Smith's 
Appeal  in  her  Behalf  to  the  Queen — Her  Portrait  is  taken — Meeting  of  Smith  and  Poca- 
hontas— Her  Illness  and  Death — Her  Burial  at  Gravesend — Her  Character — Her  Descendants 
— John  Randolph — The  Nonpareil  of  Virginia, 211 

NELL  GWYNN. 

An  Explanation — ^Nell  Gwynn's  Horoscope — She  becomes  a  Bar-tender  and  an  Orange-girl — The 
Reopening  of  the  Theatres — Women's  Parts  are,  for  the  first  Time,  performed  by  Women — 
Orange  Moll — Pepys  admires  "  Pretty,  Witty  Nell,"  and  kisses  her— She  becomes  an  Actress 
— She  plays  in  Dryden's  "  Maiden  Queen" — Pepys  is  enthusiastic — Lord  Buckhurst  is  Nelly's 
Lover — He  is  induced  to  yield  her  to  the  King — Nelly  at  Whitehall — Madame  Carwell — Odd's 
Fish  ! — The  Manager  of  Drury  Lane  and  Oliver  Cromwell — Nelly's  two  Sons  by  the  King — 
Her  Device  to  obtain  Titles  for  them — The  Origin  of  Chelsea  Hospital — Death  of  Charles  II. 
— "Let  not  poor  Nelly  Starve" — Nell's  straitened  Circumstances — Her  Illness,  Contrition, 
and  Christian  Death — Dr.  Tenison's  Sermon — Apologies  for  Nell  Gwynn — The  Duke  of  St. 
Albans — Harriet  Mellon — Angela  Burdett  Coutts, 235 

LADY   MARY   WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Birth  of  Lady  Mary  Pierrepont — Her  Education  and  Precocity — She  is  enrolled  a  Toast  at  the 
Kitcat  Club,  at  the  Age  of  Eight  Years — She  directs  her  Father's  Household  and  carves  on 
Election  Days — Her  Acquaintance  with  Edward  Wortley  Montagu— They  avow  their  Love — 
Lord  Kingston  objects  to  the  Match — The  Lovers  are  privately  Married — Lady  Mary  appears 
at  St.  James's — She  accompanies  her  Husband  to  Constantinople — The  Bagnio — Adrianople 
— The  Lovely  Fatima — Lady  Mary  studies  the  Language — She  observes  the  Process  of  Inocu- 
lation for  the  Small  Pox — Iler  Infant  Son  the  first  British  Subject  Inoculated — Her  Return  to 
England — Ilcr  Intimacy  with  Pope — She  dabbles  in  South  Sea  Stock — Inoculation  in  England 
— Her  Efforts  to  introduce  it — Her  Successes — ^Three  Cases  end  fatally — She  is  attacked  from 
the  Pulpit — The  Medical  Profession  takes  up  Arms  against  her — Theological  Argimients 

against  the  Practice — Final  Triumph  of  Common  Sense — Lady  Mary's  Quarrel  with  Pope 

Her  Travels  upon  the  Continent — Her  Death — The  Surreptitious  Publication  of  her  Letters — 
Her  Position  in  Literature — Her  Cenotaph  at  Lichfield, 253 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 
Marie  Antoinette  at  the  Age  of  Fourteen  Years — She  is  contracted  to  Louis,  Dauphin  of  Franco 
— Her  Education  to  fit  her  for  her  Station — Her  Journey  to  France,  and  Arrival  at  ('ompii'gne 


CONTENTS.  vii 

— The  Nuptial  Festivities — Marie  Antoinette  at  Court — Madame  Etiquette — A  Masked  Ball  by 
Moonlight — Marie  Antoinette  becomes  Queen  of  France — She  obtains  the  Title  of  Autri- 
chienne,  and  offends  the  Royal  Sisters-in-Law — The  Sliding  Scale  of  Beauty — A  Forbidden 
Amusement — The  Queen  plays  Truant  from  Home — She  witnesses  the  Exercises  of  the 
future  Charles  X.  upon  the  Tight  Rope — Her  Son,  the  Martyr  Louis  XVII. — The  Queen's 
Necklace — Fatal  Results — Madame  Deficit — The  French  Revolution — The  Emigration — The 
Mob  at  Versailles — The  Baker,  the  Baker's  Wife,  and  the  Little  Apprentice — The  Flight  of 
the  Royal  Family — They  are  intercepted  at  Varennes — The  Monarchy  is  Overthrown — Marie 
Antoinette  in  the  Temple — The  Precautions  of  the  Municipality — The  Execution  of  the  King 
— Horrible  Treatment  inflicted  on  the  Dauphin — Trial  and  Conviction  of  Marie  Antoinette — 
Scenes  on  the  Road  to  the  Scaffold — The  Execution — Opinions  of  Lamartiue,  Alison  and 
Thomas  Jefferson — Example  of  Marie  Antoinette, 275 

THE  MAID  OF  SARAGOSSA. 

The  First  Siege  of  Saragossa — The  City  contemptuously  spoken  of  by  the  French  as  inhabited 
by  Priests,  Cowards,  and  Women — An  Apparition — Southey's  Description  of  the  Scene — 
Agostina  Zaragoz — Her  Intrepidity  and  Omnipresence — A  Laconic  Reply  to  a  Laconic  Sum- 
mons— War  to  the  Knife — Eleven  Days'  Butchery — The  Siege  is  raised — Agostina  is  made 
an  Engineer  of  Artillery — The  Second  Siege — Agostina  is  taken  Prisoner  by  the  French — 
Her  Escape — Lord  Byron's  "Childe  Harold  " — Wilkie's  "  Defence  of  Saragossa" — Statue  of 
Agostina  by  J.  Bell — IndifiTerence  of  the  Spanish  upon  the  Subject  of  Agostina,     .        .  805 

ANNE  HASSELTINE  JUDSON. 

An  American  Heroine — Birth  and  early  Life  of  Anne  Hasseltine — Her  Youthful  Gaieties — Her 
Conversion — She  teaches  School  at  Salem — The  General  Association  of  Congregatioualist 
Clergymen — The  Importance  of  Foreign  Missions  urged — Adoniram  Judaon — ^His  offer  of  Mar- 
riage to  Miss  Hasseltine,  together  with  a  Proposal  to  accompany  him  to  India — Her  Earnest 
Consideration  of  the  Project — Her  Consent — Mr.  Judson's  Letter  to  her  Parents— Her  Mar- 
riage and  Departure  for  Calcutta — The  Voyage — The  Ai-rival — The  English"  Mission  at  Seram- 
pore — Vexatious  Persecution  by  the  Police — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson  are  compelled  to  leave  for 
the  Isle  of  France — Mrs.  Judson  in  quest  of  missing  Baggage — The  Death  of  Harriet  Newell — 
The  Missionaries  arrive  at  Rangoon — Their  study  of  the  Language — Difficulties — Mrs.  Judson 
visits  Madras  for  her  Health — Her  Return — Birth  and  Death  of  her  first  Child — Arrival  of  a 
Printing  Press — Two  Tracts  are  published — Mrs.  Judson  reads  the  Scriptures  to  Birmese 
Women — Erection  of  a  Zayat — The  first  Convert  —  The  Sacrament  administered  in  two 
Languages — A  Solemn  Baptism — The  King  of  Birmah  rejects  the  Bible — Mrs.  Judson  visits 
England  and  America — She  finds  the  Mission  prospering  on  her  Return — They  ascend  the 
Irrawaddy  to  Ava — War  between  Birmah  and  England — Arrest  of  Mr.  Judson  as  a  Spy — His 
Sufferings — The  Efforts  of  his  Wife  to  obtain  his  Release — Her  Silver  confiscated — ^Mr.  Jud 
son  in  the  Death  Prison — A  Mince  Pie  far  from  Home — Devotion  of  Mrs.  Judson — Birth  of 
her  second  Child,  a  Daughter — Affecting  Scene  in  the  Prison  Yard — Stanzas  composed  by 
the  chained  Father — The  English  advance  towards  Ava — Mr.  Judson  is  secretly  removed — 
Agony  of  his  Wife — Oung-pen-la,  the  "  Never-to-be-Forgotten  " — A  Filthy  Receptacle  for 
Grain  Mrs.  Judson's  only  Home — The  Small  Pox  and  Famine — Unparalleled  Misery — Mr. 
Judson  allowed  to  beg  Nourishment  from  compassionate  Mothers  for  his  starving  Infant 


vui  CONTENTS. 

Mr.  Judson  sent,  as  Interpreter,  to  Maloun — Mrs.  Judson  attacked  with  Spotted  Fever — The 
Birraese  assemble  to  see  her  die — Her  Recovery — Release  of  the  Missionaries  at  the  Behest 
of  the  EngUsh  Commauder — A  Thrill  of  Delight — The  Whirligig  of  Time,  and  one  of  its 
Revenges — Mrs.  Judson  and  a  wounded  Oflicer — Her  failing  Health — ^Her  last  Illness  and 
Death — Her  Grave  beneath  the  Hope  Tree — Conclusion, 813 

CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 

The  Six  Children  of  the  Rev.  Patrick  Bronte — Their  Early  Life — Potato  Dinners — Mr.  Bronte's 
Eccentricities — Death  of  his  Wife — His  eldest  four  Daughters  at  Cowan's  Bridge — Death  of 
Maria  and  Elizabeth — Occupations  of  Charlotte — Her  Personal  Appearance — The  Seminary 
of  Roe  Head — A  Ghostly  Neighborhood — Charlotte's  Scholarship — Her  Opinions  upon  Books 
— She  returns  to  Roe  Head  as  an  Instructress — She  spends  two  Years  at  Brussels — Branwell 
Bronte — Currer,  Ellis,  and  Acton  Bell — Their  Volume  of  Poems — Incipient  BUndness  of  their 
Father — "  Jane  Eyre  "  commenced — Progress  of  the  Work — Miseries  of  Authorship — Publi- 
cation and  Success  of  Jane  Eyre — Opinions  of  the  Press — Mr.  Bronte  reads  the  Book,  and  is 
favorably  impressed — The  Secret  faitlifully  kept — Charlotte's  First  Visit  to  London — Death 
of  Branwell — Death  of  Emily — Death  of  Anne — The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death — 
Sliirley — The  Mystery  solved — Villette — ^Mr.  Nicholls  proposes  Marriage  to  Charlotte — Her 
Father's  Objections — His  final  Consent — Marriage  and  Death  of  Charlotte  Bronte — Jane  Eyre 
a  Classic, 353 

VICTORIA. 

Queens  of  To-day  as  distinguished  from  Queens  of  Ancient  Times — Improbabilities  of  Victoria's 
Accession  to  the  Throne — Edward,  Duke  of  Kent — His  Marriage  In  Germany — Journey  to 
England — Birth  of  AJexandrina  Victoria — Situation  of  the  Succession — Death  of  the  Duke — 
Early  Education  of  Victoria — Wilberforce — Rev.  George  Davys — Victoria  has  a  Companion 
in  her  Studies — Her  Confirmation — She  attains  her  Majority — Death  of  King  WUliam — Vic- 
toria proclaimed  Queen — She  prorogues  Parliament — Her  Coronation — Marriage  with  Prince 
Albert — A  bounteous  Dispens.ation — The  Princess  Royal  and  the  Heir  Apparent — The  Public 
Duties  of  the  Queen — Her  Occupations — Her  private  Life — Her  Summer  Holidays — The 
Highlands  and  the  Valley  of  the  Rhine — American  Respect  for  Victoria — Spirit  of  the 
English  National  Anthem — Reflections, 375 

EUGENIE. 

A  startling  Rumor — A  Spanish  Countess  at  Compiegne — The  Parisians  are  discontented — ^Epi- 
grams— A  trying  Ordeal — Louis  Napoleon  announces  his  intended  Mari'iage  to  the  Senate — 
Effect  upon  the  Country — Eugenie  de  Montijo — Her  Ancestry — Education — Personal  Appear- 
ance— Character — The  Marriage — A  Chilling  Reception — An  unconsidered  Expression — The 
Honeymoon— Ilcr  Majesty  obtains  the  Good  Will  of  the  People— The  Parisians  recant — The 
Empress'  Taste  in  Dress — A  famous  Invention — Her  Occupations — Her  PoUtical  Influence — 
Conclusion, 389 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


SEMIRAMIS, FUONTISPIECE. 

PENELOPE, TO  FACE  I'AliE   27 

CORNELIA, 43 

ZENOBIA, 57 

DANTE'S  BEATRICE, 73 

JOAN  DARO, 81 

ISABELLA, 120 

DIANA  DE  POITIERS, 155 

ANNE   BOLEYN, 161 

MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 187 

POCAHONTAS, 211 

NELL  GWYNN, 235 

LADY  MARY   WORTLEY   MONTAGU, 253 

MARIE   ANTOINETTE, 275 

THE   MAID   OF   SARAGOSSA, 305 

ANNE   HASSELTINE  JUDSON, 313 

CHARLOTTE   BRONTE, 353 

VICTORIA, 375 

EUGENIE, 389 


AUTHORITIES   CONSULTED   AND   BOOKS   REFERRED   TO. 


ANCIENT  HISTORY, Rollin. 

NINEVEH, Layard. 

THE  ODYSSEY, Popes  Homer. 

EPISTLES   OP  THE   HEROINES, Ovid. 

TELEMACHUS, Fcnelon. 


PLUTARCH'S   LIVES. 
DE    PAUPERTATE, 
BIOGRAPHIE  NOUVELLE, 


Valerius  Maximus. 
Didot. 


THE   HOLY   BIBLE. 

AUGUSTA   HISTORIA,  .... 

RISE    AND    FALL  OF   THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE, 

HARMONIES   OP   NATURE,      . 

RUINS   OF   ANCIENT   CITIES, 

ZENOBIA,    OR   THE   FALL   OF   PALMYRA, 

BIOGRAPHIE  UNIVERSELLE. 


Trebellius  Pollio. 

Gibbon. 

Bern,  de  St.  Pierre. 

Bucke. 

IVare. 


LA   VITA  NUOVA, 

LA  DIVINA  COMMEDIA, 

VITA  DI   DANTE, 

POETS   AND   POETRY  OF  EUROPE, 

NORTH    AMERICAN   REVIEW,  1833. 

CHRISTIAN   EXAMINER,  Jan.,  1858. 


Dante. 

Boccaccio. 
Longfellow. 


LE   PROCES  DE  LA  PUCELLE, 
HISTORY   OF   FRANCE, 

JEANNE   D'ARC, 


BIOGRAPHIE   NOUVELLE,      . 

HISTORY   OF   FERDINAND  AND  ISABELLA, 
CHRISTOPHE    COLOMB, 


LIFE   OF   MARY,    QUEEN   OF   SCOTS, 

HISTORY   OP    FRANCE, 

LES  VIES   DES  DAMES  GALANTES, 

QUEENS    OP   ENGLAND. 

HISTORY   OF    THE  REFORMATION, 

LIFE   OP  MARY,  QUEEN  OP  SCOTS, 

HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND,      . 


Jules  Quicherat. 
Michekt. 
Henri  Martin. 
Guido  Goerres. 
Lamartine. 
Abel  Desjardins. 
Didot. 

PrescoU. 

RoseUy  de  Lorgues. 

JMi.ts  Brnger. 
Henri  Martin. 
Brantime. 

Agnes  Strickland. 
Burnet. 
H.  G.  Bell. 
Miss  Beuger. 
Bobertson. 


xu 


AUTHORITIES    CONSULTED,    ETC, 


HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND,      .  ... 

GOODALL'S   EXAMINATION. 

TYTLER'S   INQUIRY. 

LES  VIES  DES  DAMES  ILLUSTRES, 

fflSTOEY  OF   VIRGINIA,  ... 

GENERALL  HISTORIE  OP  VIRGINIA, 

LIFE   OF   CAPTAIN   JOHN  SMITH, 

HISTORIE   OF  TRAVAILE   INTO  VIRGINIA   BRITANNIA, 

LIFE   OF  JOHN   RANDOLPH,  .... 

MARRIAGE   OF   POCAHONTAS,         .... 

STORY  OF  NELL  GWYNN, 

PEPYS'   DIARY. 

BEADTIES  OF  THE  COURT    OF  CHARLES  H., 

WOMAN'S   RECORD, 

ANNALS   OF  CHELSEA   HOSPITAL. 

ENVIRONS   OF   LONDON, 

HISTORY  OF   THE  REIGN   OF  JAMES  H., 
NELL  GWYNN,  OR  THE  PROLOGUE, 


Dr.  Gilbert  Stuart. 


Brantome. 

Stith. 

Burk. 

Captain  John  Smith. 

HiUard. 

Strachey. 

Garland. 

Lossing. 

Peter  Cunningham. 

Mrs.  Jameson. 
Mrs.  Hale. 

Lysons. 

Charles  James  Fox. 

Douglas  Jerrold. 


LETTERS  OF   LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 
BIOGRAPHY  OF   LADY  M.  W.  M.,  . 

PLAIN  DEALER, 

CRITICAL  REVIEW 

SERMONS    AND   MEDICAL  WORKS   OF   THE  PERIOD. 
ENCYCLOPEDIA   OF    ENGLISH    LITERATURE,     . 
PENNY   CYCLOPEDIA. 
REES'   CYCLOPEDIA. 


Dallaway. 

Lady  Louisa  Stuart. 

Steele. 

Smollett. 

Chambers. 


LIFE   OF   MARIE   ANTOINETTE,       . 
HISTORY  OF   THE  GIRONDINS, 
HISTORY  OF   THE   FRENCH   REVOLUTION, 
CHRONIQUES  DE   L'CEIL  DE   BCEUF, 

HISTORY  OP  THE  PENINSULAE  WAR,    . 

DISSERTATION   ON   THE  CONVENTION  OF   CINTRA, 
CHILDE   HAROLD,          .            .            .            •            . 
LIFE  OF   SIR  DAVID  WILKIE, 
WOMAN'S  RECORD 

MEMOIR  OF  REV.    DR.  JUDSON,      . 

"  MRS.  JUDSON,  .... 

THE  EARNEST   MAN, 

MISSIONARY  REGISTER. 
HISTORY  OF  MISSIONS. 

LIFE  OF  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE,      . 
LECTURES, 

LIFE   OF  EDWARD,  DUKE  OF  KENT,       . 
ROYAL    AI-MANACS   AND  GAZETTES. 
ROYAL   PRINCESSES  OF   ENGLAND, 

FRENCH  OFFICIAL  JOURNALS  AND  RECORDS. 
TRICOLORED    SKETCHES   I>r   PARIS. 
NEWSPAPERS  OF   THE   DAY. 
PERSON.U>  KNOWLEDGE   AND  OBSERVATION. 


TVeber. 
Lamartine. 
Tliiers. 
Touchard-  Lafosse. 

Southey. 

Napier. 

JVordsjcoi'th. 

Byron. 

Allan  Cunningham. 

Mrs.  Hale. 

Wayland. 

Knmvles. 

Conant. 


Mrs.  Gaskell. 
Rev.  Henry  Giles. 

Neal. 
Mrs.  Hall. 


SEMIRAMI8 


At  a  period  which  the  researches  of  historians  have  failed 
to  determine,  an  Assyrian  king,  whose  very  name  is  a  matter 
of  doubt,  and  the  site  of  whose  capital  city  has  long  since 
been  lost,  leading  an  army  whose  numbers  cannot  with  any 
certainty  be  fixed,  into  a  territory  whose  location  it  would  be 
impossible  to  indicate,  to  avenge  an  insult  the  nature  of  which 
history  has  not  recorded,  laid  siege  to  the  stronghold  of  the 
country.  Prodigies  of  valor  were  achieved  on  either  side,  but 
the  beleaguered  city  proved  so  fertile  in  resources  that  the 
blockade  languished,  and  the  operations  of  the  Assyrians  were 
for  a  time  suspended.  At  this  juncture,  the  fortunes  of  the  king 
or  the  chances  of  war  brought  to  the  camp  a  woman,  whose 
birth  had  been  the  subject  of  fable,  whose  arrival  amid  the  riot 
of  battle  can  only  be  explained  by  complaisant  legend,  and 
whose  subsequent  history — indeed,  whose  very  existence — is 
regarded  by  the  prudent  commentators  of  our  times  with  con- 
stantly augmenting  distrust.  The  reader  is  thus  duly  forewarned 
that,  in  the  following  sketch  of  Ninus  and  Semiramis,  we  appeal 
exclusively  to  the  fabulists,  convinced  as  we  are  that,  did  we 
rely  upon  the  antiquarians,  or  accept  only  what  is  deemed  au- 
thentic in  their  history,  we  should  leave  our  frontispiece  without 


14  SEMIEAMIS. 

illustrative  text,  or  perhaps,  indeed,  should  have  had  no  fron- 
tispiece at  all. 

In  the  year  1240,  B.  c,  or  thereabouts,  a  goddess  worshipped 

in  Syria  uuder  the  name  of  Derceto,  and  widely  respected  for 
her  chastity,  had  the  misfortune  to  displease  that  most  irritable 
divinity,  Venus,  who  straightway  resolved  on  vengeance.  The 
catalogue  of  ways  and  means  in  her  possession  seems  to  have 
been,  in  every  system  of  mythology,  exceedingly  Umited  ;  and  it 
is  not  surprising  to  find  the  Assyrian  Venus  resorting,  in  the 
poverty  of  her  resources,  to  the  universal  and  infallible  passion 
— Love  ;  thus  setting  the  example  to  which  the  Venus  of  Paphos 
afterwards  so  consistently  adhered.  Derceto  loved,  and  not 
wisely :  she  gave  birth  to  a  female  infant,  which  she  abandoned 
upon  the  deserts  of  Ascalon  ;  then,  obeying  an  impulse  which 
seems  to  have  been  usual  in  these  guilty  legendary  mothers,  she 
slew  her  betrayer,  and  threw  herself  headlong  into  a  lake.  The 
eternal  fitness  of  things  is  beautifully  consulted  in  the  disposition 
made  of  her  by  the  fable — she  was  changed,  either  by  assimila- 
tion or  metempsychosis,  into  a  fish.  Now,  fish  are  cold-blooded, 
as  every  one  knows,  and  being  oviparous,  leave  their  young  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  The  legend,  having  thus  given  to  the 
parent  an  integument  consistent  with  her  nature,  returns  to  the 
deserted  babe. 

No  little  invention  has  been  shown  by  the  mythologists 
in  what  may  be  called  the  ward  or  department  of  abandoned 
infants.  The  Foundling  Hospital  of  antiquity  and  the  classics  is 
an  extensive  institution,  and  its  annals  are  distinguished  by  an 
agreeable  variety.  Without  once  trespassing  upon  the  precincts 
of  Sacred  History,  without  an  attempt  to  imitate  or  to  repeat  the 
beautiful  narrative  of  the  osier  basket  among  the  bulrushes,  its 
managers  depend  solely  upon  their  own  resources,  which  are, 
indeed,  sufficiently  abundant.  For  the  founder  of  Rome,  they 
invented  the  she-wolf  of  the  Tiber  ;  they  delivered  Jason,  whom 
his  parents,  through  fear  of  a  usurping  brother,  dared  not  keep 


SBMIRAMIS.  15 

at  home,  to  the  centaur  Chiron  ;  Bacchus,  prematurely  born  of  a 
dead  mother,  they  stitched  tightly  up  in  the  thigh  of  Jupiter  ; 
they  gave  ^neas  for  five  years  to  the  nurture  of  the  dryads  of 
Mount  Ida ;  they  hid  the  infant  Jove,  leaving  him  among  the 
Melian  nymphs  to  be  suckled  by  a  goat,  and  instructed  the  wild 
bees  to  deposit  their  honey  on  his  lips.  They  caught  the  limping 
sou  of  Juno,  as  his  mother,  shocked  at  his  deformity,  flung  him 
from  Olympus,  and  deputed  the  nymphs  Eurydice  and  Thetis  to 
cherish  him  in  a  cavern  beneath  the  sea.  Juno  was  nursed,  dur- 
ing her  tender  years,  in  the  grotto  palace  of  Oceanus  and  Tethys. 
But  long  before  these  quaint  and  delicate  fancies  were  invested 
by  Homer  and  other  poets  with  the  fame  which  should  give  them 
immortaUty,  the  mythologists  of  Syria  had  made  Semiramis  the 
subject  of  a  similar  and  as  probable  a  legend. 

The  infant  daughter  of  Derceto  was  abandoned,  as  has  been 
said,  upon  the  desolate  shores  of  the  lake  in  which  her  mother 
had  perished.  She  was  befriended  in  her  abandonment,  not  by 
wood  nymphs  or  water  sprites  ;  not  by  bees  or  goats  ;  but  by 
doves.  These  gentle  nurses  fed  and  sheltered  her  from  the 
storm.  They  pilfered  milk  from  the  royal  dairies,  and  brought 
it  to  her  in  their  beaks.  They  spread  their  wings  over  her  at 
night,  forming  a  quilt  of  dove  plumage  softer  than  coverlet  of 
eider  down.  A  year  thus  passed  away.  The  child  grew  and 
prospered,  but  at  last  clamored  for  more  substantial  food.  The 
doves,  whose  depredations  had  been  undiscovered  as  long  as 
they  had  been  confined  to  the  milk  pails,  were  detected  in  their 
larcenies  the  moment  they  attacked  the  cheese  ;  they  were 
tracked  to  the  spot  where  the  babbling  orphan  lay.  The  intend- 
ant  of  the  flocks  and  herds  of  the  king,  Simmas  by  name,  being 
without  children  of  his  own,  adopted  her,  and  made  her  his 
daughter  and  his  heir.  He  gave  her  the  name  of  Semiramis — a 
word  which,  in  the  Syrian  tongue,  expressed  the  tender  relations 
which  had  subsisted  between  her  and  her  friends  of  the  dove-cot. 


16  SEMI  RAM  IS. 

It  is  humiliating,  after  having  narrated  this  absorbing  story, 
to  be  obliged  to  add,  that  it  is  believed  to  have  been  invented 
by  Semiramis  herself,  in  later  years,  to  conceal  the  irregularity 
of  her  bii-th,  and  to  convince  her  subjects,  the  Assyrians,  of  the 
interest  with  which  the  gods  had  watched  over  her  early  years. 
It  is,  at  any  rate,  certain  that  doves  were  publicly  worshipped 
by  that  people — an  honor  paid  them,  doubtless,  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  humanity  and  disinterested  benevolence  which  they 
had  displayed  towards  their  queen. 

Semiramis  attained  her  eighteenth  year,  her  beauty  and  her 
accomplishments  attracting  many  suitors  for  her  hand.  Menones, 
the  governor  of  Syria,  was  the  successful  aspirant ;  he  conducted 
his  lovely  bride  to  Nineveh,  where  the  marriage  was  celebrated. 
Their  union  was  a  happy  one,  and  two  sons,  Hypates  and  Hy- 
daspes,  soon  came  to  bless  it.  Semiramis  gave  her  husband 
much  prudent  advice  in  the  administration  of  his  governorship, 
and  he  was  always  ready  to  confess  the  benefit  he  derived  from 
her  sagacious  counsels.  At  this  juncture,  in  an  evil  hour  for 
Menones,  Ninus,  the  king,  who  had  received  a  check  in  a  late 
excursion  against  Bactriana,  resolved  to  march  upon  the  rebel- 
lious kingdom  with  an  army  of  formidable  proportions.  He 
summoned  all  his  officers  and  retainers  to  his  assistance,  Menones 
among  the  number.  Ninus  was  at  this  time  master  of  all  the 
nations  inhabiting  Asia,  with  the  exception  of  India  and  Bactri- 
ana— Syria,  Phoenicia,  Pamphylia,  Lycia,  Caria,  Phrj'gia,  Mysia, 
Lydia,  Persia,  Susiana.  His  capital,  Nineveh,  was  the  most 
remarkable  city  of  antiquity.  His  resources  must  have  been 
inexhaustible,  to  have  enabled  him  to  lead  to  battle  such  an 
army  as  took  the  field.  His  forces  consisted  of  1,700,000  infan- 
try, 200,000  horse,  and  10,000  chariots,  armed  with  scythes. 
With  this  enormous  train  he  overran  and  subdued  the  country 
of  his  enemies,  till  he  arrived  before  Bactria,  their  capital, 
having  lost  in  various  encounters  the  bagatelle  of  100,000  men. 


SEMIRAMIS.  17 

The  city  held  out  with  unlocked  for  courage,  and  Ninus  de- 
spaired of  reducing  it. 

It  so  happened,  that  at  this  period  Menones,  desiring  to 
beguile  the  tedium  of  the  siege,  had  summoned  Semiramis  to 
the  camij.  Ambitious  of  fame,  and  tired  of  her  inglorious  life, 
she  hastened  to  obey.  She  composed  a  travelling  costume  which 
might  have  suited  a  person  of  either  sex,  in  which  good  taste, 
cleanliness  and  convenience  were  equally  consulted,  and  in  this 
ambiguous  attire  appeared  before  her  husband.  The  siege  was 
still  languishing,  and  without  prospect  of  a  speedy  termination. 
She  went  forth  to  reconnoitre  the  means  of  resistance  employed 
by  the  Bactrians.  She  noticed  that  the  citadel  was  negligently 
guarded,  the  troops  stationed  about  it  invariably  leaving  it 
unprotected  when  their  assistance  was  required  at  other  points 
of  the  line  of  defence.  She  resolved  to  attack  the  spot  thus 
exposed,  and  on  the  occasion  of  an  assault  directed  at  a  distant 
portion  of  the  wall,  she  led  a  body  of  picked  troops  against  the 
citadel.  They  penetrated  into  the  city,  and  opened  the  gates  to 
the  besiegers.  Bactria,  with  its  immense  treasures,  thus  fell  into 
the  hands  of  Ninus.  The  grateful  king  overwhelmed  Semiramis 
with  presents,  and  though  ripe  in  years  and  experience,  con- 
ceived an  unconquerable  passion  for  her.  He  sent  for  Menones, 
and  offered  him  his  daughter  Sosana  in  exchange  for  his  wife. 
Menones  was  highly  scandalized,  and  refused  to  accede  to  the 
proposal.  Ninus  assured  him  that  if  he  did  not  yield,  he  would 
have  his  eyes  put  out.  Menones,  convinced  that  nothing  could 
save  Semiramis  from  the  king,  and  determined  not  to  survive  his 
dishonor,  hung  himself  in  despair.  On  his  return  to  Nineveh, 
Ninus  married  the  lovely  widow,  whose  grief  at  the  unfortunate 
end  of  her  husband  does  not  seem  to  have  been  of  long  duration. 
She  bore  him  a  son,  who  was  called  Ninyas.  Her  influence  over 
her  lord,  now  well-nigh  in  his  dotage,  may  be  imagined  from 
the  following  incident : 

Having  secured  the  cooperation  of  the  principal  officers  of 

3 


18  SEMIRAMIS. 

the  kingdom,  Semiramis  besought  Ninus  to  intrust  her  with 
the  sovereign  power  for  the  space  of  five  days.  The  uxorious 
monarch  consented,  and  Semiramis,  after  a  sufficient  number 
of  lesser  experiments  to  prove  the  allegiance  of  her  subjects, 
ordered  the  unfortunate  Ninus  to  be  beheaded.  The  command 
was  executed  with  an  alacrity  which  must  have  consoled  the  last 
moments  of  a  king  who  had  been  an  ardent  stickler  for  disciiDline 
and  unquestioning  obedience.  Semiramis  seized  the  crown,  and, 
encountering  no  opposition  from  the  court  or  the  people,  reigned 
uninterruptedly  upon  the  throne  she  had  usurped.  It  is  proper  to 
add  that,  according  to  another  version  of  Semiramis'  accession  to 
power,  instead  of  murdering  Ninus,  she  merely  imprisoned  him 
for  hfe  ;  that,  according  to  still  another,  she  received  the  crown 
from  Ninus,  upon  his  expiring  tranquilly  in  his  bed  ;  and  that, 
during  the  early  years  of  her  administration,  she  assumed  the 
garments  and  bearing  of  her  youthfid  son  Ninyas,  until,  by  a 
vigorous  and  sagacious  use  of  her  authority,  she  had  reconciled 
the  Assyrians  to  the  domination  of  a  woman. 

However  this  may  be,  and  in  whatever  manner  Semiramis 
attained  the  sovereign  power,  it  would  seem  that  she  wielded 
it  with  marvellous  energy,  creating  for  herself  a  reputation 
unrivalled  in  antiquity.  She  applied  all  her  thoughts  to  immor^ 
talize  her  name  and  to  surpass  her  predecessors  in  magnificence. 
She  conceived  the  idea  of  building  a  city  which  should  excel  the 
peerless  Nineveh,  and  in  this  view,  undertook  the  construction, 
or,  according  to  other  authoritres,  merely  the  embellishment, 
of  the  mighty  Babylon.  This  city,  as  Semiramis  left  it,  was 
surrounded  with  walls  eighty-seven  feet  thick  and  three  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high ;  they  formed  an  exact  square,  each  side  being 
fifteen  miles  long.  On  llic  outside  was  a  moat  as  deep  as  the 
walls  were  high,  for  it  had  furnished  the  clay  of  which  the  bricks 
were  formed.  Tliere  were  one  hundred  gates  of  solid  brass — the 
gates  whose  destruction  by  Cyrus  was  predicted  by  Isaiah. 
Numerous  streets,  intersecting  each  other  at  right  angles,  cut 


SEMIRAMIS.  19 

the  city  into  six  hundred  and  seventy-six  squares,  all  of  them 
ornamented  by  elegant  buildings,  by  gardens  and  open  cultivated 
spaces. 

An  arm  of  the  Euphrates  ran  across  the  city  from  the  north  to 
the  south ;  a  quay  bordered  each  bank,  and  a  bridge,  one-eighth 
of  a  mile  in  length,  was  skillfully  thrown  across  it.  That  the 
river,  swollen  as  it  usually  was  in  summer  by  the  melting  of  the 
snows  upon  the  mountains  of  Armenia,  might  not  inundate 
its  banks,  two  canals  were  dug  at  some  distance  above  Babylon, 
by  which  the  overflow  was  diverted  into  the  Tigris.  A  reservoir 
was  also  formed  by  the  sinking  of  a  prodigious  artificial  lake, 
one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  compass,  whose  waters,  collected 
in  times  of  abundance,  were  let  out  by  sluices  to  irrigate  the  land 
at  seasons  of  drought.  Into  this  lake  the  river  was  turned, 
till  the  bank  and  quays  and  bridge  were  completed.  The  time 
occupied  by  the  laborers  in  these  works  could  of  course  be  no 
longer  than  that  taken  by  the  river  to  fill  the  lake,  after 
which  it  would  naturally  burst  its  bonds  and  return  to  its  former 
channel.  It  has  been  calculated  that  if  the  Euphrates  were 
five  hundred  feet  wide  and  ten  deep,  and  flowed  two  miles 
an  hour,  it  would  fill  the  lake  in  three  years,  allowing  no 
absorption  to  the  sides  ;  but  if  absorption  and  evaporation  were 
takeu  into  the  account,  four  years  would  probably  be  required — 
a  period  doubtless  suflicient,  when  the  number  of  hands  employed 
is  considered.  Were  the  Babylonish  lake  to  be  now  constructed 
in  America,  it  would  cost,  according  to  the  usual  prices  paid 
for  public  works,  the  incredible  sum  of  twenty-one  thousand 
millions  of  dollars.  This  comparison  will  either  serve  to  show 
the  immense  superiority  of  the  ancients  to  the  moderns  in  all 
those  elements  which  constitute  national  grandeur,  or  to  con- 
vince the  reader,  with  the  historian  Rollin,  that  "there  are  some 
of  the  wonders  of  Babylon  which  are  scarce  to  be  compre- 
hended or  believed,  and  that  of  this  number  is  the  lake." 

The  temple  of  Belus  was  another  of  the  marvels  of  Babylon, 


20  SEMIRAMIS. 

and  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  prodigious  tower  which  stood 
in  the  middle  of  it.  Its  base  was  a  square,  each  side  being  a 
furlong  in  length ;  its  height  was  also  a  furlong.  It  consisted  of 
eight  towers,  built  one  upon  the  other,  decreasing  regularly 
to  the  top,  whence  it  has  been  called  a  pyramid  by  several 
ancient  authors.  In  height  it  far  exceeded  the  most  remarkable 
of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt.  It  is  believed  by  respectable 
authorities  to  have  been  the  tower  mentioned  in  the  Scriptures 
as  the  Tower  of  Babel,  the  presumptuous  edifice  which  called 
down  upon  the  human  race  the  curse  of  the  confusion  of  tongues. 
Upon  the  very  summit  was  an  observatory,  by  means  of  which 
the  Babylonians  attained  the  proficiency  in  astronomy  which 
history  ascribes  to  them.  The  chief  use  to  which  the  building 
was  put  was  the  worship  of  Belus,  the  Assyrian  Jupiter,  and 
its  wealth  in  statues,  censers,  cups  and  other  sacred  vessels — 
all  of  them  of  massive  gold,  and  the  spoil  of  conquered  nations, 
was  almost  beyond  calculation.  An  estimate  made  by  Diodorus, 
however,  places  their  value  at  six  thousand  three  hundred 
Babylonish  talents,  or  six  hundred  millions  of  dollars. 

Such  were  the  principal  works  of  art  and  ingenuity  which 
rendered  Babylon  so  famous  in  antiquity ;  a  portion  of  them  are 
believed  to  have  been  due  to  Semiramis,  though  her  share  has 
not  been  satisfactorily  separated  from  that  of  Ninus  and  of  Nebu- 
chadnezzar. All  historians  unite,  however,  in  ascribing  to  her  the 
building  of  the  walls — an  effort  which  must  always  be  regarded 
with  amazement,  if  not  with  incredulity. 

When  the  works  she  had  undertaken  were  completed,  or 
sufficiently  advanced,  Semiramis  resolved  upon  making  a  royal 
progress  through  her  vast  and  constantly  extending  empire.  She 
advanced  into  Media  at  the  head  of  an  imposing  army.  Here,  in 
a  romantic  site,  she  laid  out  a  garden  whose  extent  was  mea- 
sured by  square  miles,  and  left,  hewn  upon  the  rocks  which 
diversified  the  scene,  the  bas-reliefs  of  herself  and  one  hundred 
of  her  guards.      At  Chaones  she  remained  long  enough  to  build 


S  E  M  I  R  A  M  I  S  .  21 

a  palace  and  spend  in  it  a  season  of  riot  and  gross  self-indul- 
gence. She  continued  her  route  into  the  territory  of  the  Per- 
sians, leaving  traces  of  her  passage  in  the  aqueducts  which 
conveyed  water  to  thirsty  cities,  in  the  liighways  which  she  laid 
across  tracts  before  impassable,  in  the  mountains  which  she 
tunnelled  and  the  valleys  which  she  filled.  Not  content  with  her 
dominions  in  Asia,  she  extended  them  by  conquests  in  Ethiopia 
and  Libya.  While  in  the  latter  country,  curiosity  led  her  to 
visit  the  oracle  of  Jupiter  Ammon,  which  she  consulted  upon  the 
number  of  years  she  had  yet  to  live.  The  oracle  replied  that 
she  would  die  when  her  son  Ninyas  should  secretly  attempt  her 
life,  but  that  after  death  several  nations  of  the  east  would  pay 
divine  honors  to  her  memory. 

Whatever  proportion  of  fable  may  be  mingled  with  the 
history  of  Semiramis,  it  is  the  unanimous  verdict  of  antiquity  that 
the  sway  of  the  Assyrian  queen  extended  over  the  whole  of 
upper  Asia.  Statues,  monuments,  and  inscriptions  referring  to 
her,  cities  either  founded,  built  or  improved  by  her,  scattered 
over  this  wide  expanse  of  territory,  have  proved  to  the  inquirers 
of  a  later  period,  either  that  she  had  caused  her  supremacy  to  be 
acknowledged  there,  or  that  she  had  taken  the  very  unusual  step 
of  embellishing  kingdoms  not  her  own.  An  inscription  in  which 
the  princess  chronicles  her  own  exploits  has  been  preserved  by 
Polysenus  : 

"Nature  gave  me  the  form  of  a  woman;  my  actions  have 
raised  me  to  the  level  of  the  most  valiant  of  men.  I  have 
swayed  the  empire  of  Ninus,  which,  towards  the  east,  touches  the 
river  Inamanes ;  upon  the  south,  the  land  of  incense  and  myrrh ; 
and  upon  the  north,  the  territory  of  the  Sogdians.  Before  me,  no 
Assyrian  ever  saw  the  sea  ;  I  have  seen  four  whose  waters  were 
not  navigated,  and  I  have  subdued  them  to  my  laws.  I  have 
constrained  rivers  to  flow  in  the  directions  which  I  wished  ;  and 
I  never  wished  them  to  flow  where  they  would  not  be  useful.  I 
have  rendered  sterile  lands  fruitful  by  irrigation.     I  have  built 


22  S  E  M  I  R  A  M  I  S  . 

impregnable  fortresses,  and  I  have  thrown  roads  across  impracti- 
cable mountains.  I  have  jaaved  with  my  silver  highways  where 
before  were  the  footprints  of  wild  beasts  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  my 
labors,  I  have  found  time  for  my  own  diversion  and  for  that  of 
my  friends." 

While  reigning  in  uninterrupted  tranquillity,  Scmiramis  heard 
that  a  nation  which  lived  beyond  the  river  Indus,  and  which 
derived  its  name  from  that  stream,  claimed  to  be  the  greatest 
people  in  the  world,  and  that  they  dwelt  in  a  fertile  country, 
beneath  a  benignant  sky.  She  resolved  to  make  war  upon  a 
race  thus  presumptuous  in  their  boasts  and  thus  fortunate  in 
their  lot.  She  spent  three  years  in  preparation  for  the  conflict, 
and  finally  took  the  field  at  the  head  of  the  largest  army  ever 
yet  assembled.  It  consisted  of  three  millions  of  infantry,  five 
hundred  thousand  cavalry,  one  hundred  thousand  chariots,  and 
an  immense  number  of  portable  boats  in  which  to  cross  the 
Indus.  Aware  that  the  great  strength  of  Stabrobates,  the  Indian 
monarch,  lay  in  his  elephants,  she  caused  three  hundred  thousand 
cows  and  oxen  to  be  killed,  and  their  skins  to  be  dressed  and 
colored  to  resemble  elej^hants'  hides.  With  these  she  made  a 
large  number  of  false  elejahants,  the  motive  power  of  each  being 
furnished  by  a  camel.  One  hundred  thousand  men,  ai'med  with 
spears  six  feet  long,  were  attached  to  this  wing  of  the  service. 
The  Indian  king  having  received  notice  of  her  approach,  gathered 
an  army  even  more  numerous  than  that  of  the  invaders,  and  sent 
word  to  the  queen  that  she  would  soon  have  cause  to  repent  an 
aggression  as  unwise  as  it  was  unjust.  She  launched  her  fleet  of 
canoes  upon  the  waters  of  the  Indus,  and  attempted  to  reach  the 
opposite  bank.  Battle  was  joined  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  ; 
the  issue  was  for  a  long  time  doubtful,  but  the  Indians  were 
finally  repulsed,  and  fled,  leaving  one  hundred  thousand  pri- 
soners in  the  hands  of  Semiramis.  Encouraged  by  this  success, 
and  having  transported  her  enlirc  army  across  the  river  by 
means  of  her  boats,  which  she  had  formed  into  a  bridge,  she 


SEMIKAMIS.  23 

advanced  into  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  territory.  She  disco- 
vered, too  late,  that  the  flight  of  Stabrobates  had  been  designed 
expressly  to  decoy  her  within  liis  power,  for  he  now  faced  about, 
and  a  sanguinary  engagement  of  the  entire  forces  of  both  armies 
ensued.  The  real  elephants  were  at  first  appalled  at  the  uncouth 
and  clumsy  imitations  which  met  them  in  the  charge  :  and  the 
Indian  soldiers,  accustomed  to  the  balmy  odors  with  which  their 
spicy  harvests  filled  the  air,  were  almost  incapacitated  from 
fighting  by  the  horrible  smell  of  the  hides  in  which  the  enemy's 
camels  were  incased.  But  both  they  and  the  elephants  soon  reco- 
vered, and  the  forces  of  Semiramis  gave  way  before  the  com- 
bined attack.  The  Assyrian  queen  sought  to  rally  her  troops, 
but  a  panic  had  seized  them,  and  they  commenced  a  disorderly 
retreat  towards  the  river.  She  was  twice  wounded  by  the  hand 
of  Stabrobates,  and  was  only  saved  from  capture  by  the  swiftness 
of  her  horse.  In  the  confusion  attendant  upon  the  re-passage  of 
the  Indus,  large  numbers  of  her  men  perished,  and  she  regained 
her  own  dominions  with  hardly  one-third  of  the  army  she  had 
taken  to  the  field. 

As  she  approached  her  capital,  she  learned  that  her  son 
Ninyas  was  plotting  her  destruction,  and  that  one  of  her  princi- 
pal ofiicers  was  lying  in  wait  for  her.  She  called  to  mind  the 
response  of  the  oracle  of  Jupiter  Amnion,  and,  with  a  resignation 
unusual  upon  the  throne,  resolved  to  obey  the  implied  injunc- 
tion. Though  she  caused  the  treacherous  officer  to  be  taken  into 
custody,  she  forbore  inflicting  punishment  upon  him,  and  after 
voluntarily  abdicating  the  crown,  and  putting  the  supreme 
authority  into  the  hands  of  her  son,  she  withdrew  from  the  sight 
of  men.  She  is  even  said  to  have  been  changed  into  a  dove, 
and  to  have  been  last  seen  when  on  the  wing.  Notwithstanding 
this  metamorphosis,  which  would  seem  to  preclude  the  possibility 
of  sepulture,  respectable  authorities  attribute  to  her  a  tomb,  and 
even  record  a  very  peculiar  inscription  which  they  allege  was 
placed  upon  it.     This  consisted  of  two  distinct  epigraphs,  the 


24  SEMIRAMIS. 

one  contradicting  and  annulling  the  other  :  the  first  informed 
her  royal  successors  that,  in  case  of  need,  they  would  find  large 
stores  of  precious  metals  within  her  tomb  ;  the  second  embodied 
a  fierce  imprecation  upon  the  perverse  and  avaricious  king  who 
should  violate  the  sanctuary  of  the  dead. 

Semiramis  died  or  disappeared  in  her  sixty-second  year,  after 
a  glorious  and  useful  reign  of  forty  years.  She  has  been  pro- 
nounced the  best  political  economist  of  antiquity,  and  the  first 
utilitarian  queen.  The  reader  may  safely  reject  the  greater 
portion  of  her  history,  such  as  it  has  been  handed  down  to  us  ; 
and  he  may  even  divide  among  several  sovereigns  bearing  the 
name  of  Semiramis,  the  merit  of  the  achievements  which  the 
chronicles  usually  attribute  to  her  alone  ;  there  will  still  remain 
sufficient  ground  for  admiration  and  respect  for  one  or  all  of  her 
line  and  Uneage.  The  example  of  Semiramis  is  believed  to  have 
induced  Plato  to  maintain,  in  his  Commonwealth,  that  women, 
as  well  as  men,  should  be  admitted  to  the  management  of  public 
affairs  ;  that  they  should  be  trained  to  perform  the  same  bodily 
exercises,  and  to  undergo  the  same  mental  fatigue.  But  Aris- 
totle and  Xenophon,  and,  many  centuries  later,  the  French 
historian  RoUin,  surprised  to  find  a  philosojiher  so  judicious  in 
other  respects,  openly  combating  the  most  natural  maxims  of 
modesty,  and  insisting  so  strongly  upon  a  principle  at  variance 
with  the  usual  practice  of  mankind,  "have,  with  great  judgment, 
marked  out  the  different  ends  to  which  man  and  woman  are 
ordained,  from  the  different  qualities  of  body  and  mind  where- 
with they  are  endowed  by  the  Author  of  Nature,  who  has  given 
the  one  strength  of  body  and  intrepidity  of  mind,  to  enable  him 
to  undergo  the  greatest  hardships  and  face  the  most  imminent 
dangers  ;  whilst  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  is  of  a  weak  and 
delicate  constitution,  accompanied  with  a  natural  softness  and 
modest  timidity,  which  render  her  more  fit  for  a  sedentary  life, 
and  dispose  her  to  keep  within  the  precincts  of  the  house,  and 
to  employ  herself  in  the  concerns  of  prudent  and  industrious 


SEMIRAMIS.  26 

economy.  This  allotment,  far  from  degrading  or  lessening  the 
woman,  is  really  for  her  advantage  and  honor,  in  confiding  to 
her  a  kind  of  domestic  empire  and  government,  administered 
only  by  gentleness,  reason,  equity  and  good  nature  ;  and  in 
giving  her  frequent  occasions  of  concealing  the  most  valuable 
and  excellent  qualities  under  the  inestimable  veil  of  modesty  and 
submission." 

We  have  nothing  to  add  to  these  sage  reflections.  We  may 
with  propriety  mention,  however,  in  regard  to  the  sources  from 
whence  we  have  drawn  the  details  herein  collected,  that  we  do 
not  expect  again  to  be  compelled  to  appeal  so  unreservedly  to 
the  traditions  and  legends  of  any  period  of  which  we  may  be 
treating;  and  we  hope,  as  our  chronological  sequence  progresses, 
to  arrive,  in  due  time,  at  that  epoch  in  history,  when  we  may 
present  a  record  of  attested  facts  in  place  of  an  array  of  mar- 
vellous puerilities. 


PEJ^ELOPE. 


This  most  interesting  of  the  semi-historical  heroines  of  anti- 
quity was  born,  we  may  reasonably  suppose,  some  twenty  years 
previous  to  the  Trojan  War  :  the  date  could  not  have  been  far, 
therefore,  from  1214  B.C.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Icarius  and 
Polycaste,  and  niece  of  Tyndarus,  king  of  Sparta.  Her  name  is 
said  to  have  been  originally  Arnsea,  and  to  have  been  changed 
to  Penelope  in  commemoration  of  the  skill  and  patience  which 
she  afterwards  displayed  in  the  art  of  spinning.  Ulysses,  son  of 
the  king  of  Ithaca,  was  at  first  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Helen, 
Tyndarus'  daughter  and  Penelope's  cousin,  but,  disheartened 
by  the  great  number  of  his  competitors,  he  solicited  the  hand  of 
Penelope  ;  his  addresses  being  encouraged  by  her  father,  he 
married  her  and  returned  with  her  to  Ithaca.  The  aged  king 
resigned  his  crown  to  his  son,  and  retired  to  a  life  of  rural 
solitude  ;  Ulysses  and  Penelope  lived  for  a  time  happily  in 
their  island  kingdom,  reigning  in  peace  over  their  subjects, 
and  rearing  their  son  Telemachus. 

In  the  meantime,  Helen  had  married  Menelaiis,  who,  upon 
the  death  of  Tyndarus,  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  Sparta. 
Paris,  the  son  of  Priam,  king  of  Troy,  now  paid  his  memorable 
visit  to  Sparta,  requiting  the  hospitality  of  his  host  by  abducting 


27 


28  PENELOPE. 

his  wife — an  act  which,  reprehensible  as  it  was,  we  may,  at  this 
late  day,  safely  omit  stigmatizing,  inasmuch  as  without  it  we 
should  have  lost  the  Iliad,  the  Odyssey,  and  the  iEneid.  All  who 
had  ever  addressed  their  court  to  Helen,  had  bound  themselves 
by  oath  to  unite  to  protect  her,  should  violence  be  offered  to 
her  person.  Ulysses  was,  therefore,  summoned  by  Menelaiis 
and  his  brother,  Agamemnon,  to  join  the  forces  collecting  for 
the  chastisement  of  Paris  and  the  destruction  of  Troy.  He  was 
loath  to  quit  his  beloved  Penelope,  and  to  avoid  the  necessity, 
resorted  to  stratagem.  He  counterfeited  insanity,  and,  yoking 
together  a  horse  and  a  bull,  ploughed  the  sea-shore  and  sowed 
salt  in  the  furrows.  Palamedes,  the  envoy  from  Menelaiis,  sus- 
pected the  artifice  and  resolved  to  expose  it.  He  placed  the 
infant  Telemachus  in  the  path  of  the  ill-matclied  team  :  Ulysses, 
in  whom  the  father  predominated  over  the  masquerader,  turned 
them  aside  from  the  furrow,  leaving  the  boy  unhurt.  Thus  de- 
tected, he  was  compelled  to  depart  for  the  wars.  He  after- 
wards revenged  himself  upon  the  officious  Palamedes  by  forging 
a  letter  of  thanks  from  Priam,  by  which  the  Greeks  were  led 
to  believe  that  he  had  furnished  supplies  to  the  Trojans  ;  for 
this  imputed  offence  he  was  stoned  to  death  by  his  indignant 
countrymen. 

Ulysses  accompanied  the  Greeks  to  Ilium,  and  remained 
during  the  siege  of  Troy — ten  yeai's  according  to  the  time-tables 
of  history,  many  more  in  the  computation  of  the  desolate  Pene- 
lope. Upon  the  fall  of  the  city,  he  was  involved  in  the  disasters 
which  the  vengeance  of  Minerva  heaped  upon  the  Grecian  ships, 
and  for  ten  years  more  wandered  from  country  to  country, 
exposed  to  constant  peril  and  unable  to  regain  his  home.  From 
time  to  time,  an  episode  of  a  gratifying  nature  compensated  for 
the  trials  he  underwent :  Calypso  certainly  atoned  for  Poljj^phe- 
mus,  and  Circe,  after  her  spell  was  broken,  was  a  fair  equivalent 
for  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  It  is  the  prudence,  dignity  and  fidelity 
of  Penelope,  during  tliesc  twenty  years  of  separation,  that  have 


PENELOPE.  29 

made  her  the  heroine  of  poets,  the  envy  of  husbands,  the  dream 
and  the  toast  of  bachelors. 

During  the  hatter  years  of  the  absence  of  Ulysses,  his  palace 
at  Ithaca  was  thronged  with  princes  and  peers,  importunate  and 
quarrelsome  suitors  for  the  hand  of  the  queen,  who,  they  main- 
tained, had  long  since  been  made  a  widow  by  battle  or  ship- 
wreck. Her  friends  and  family  urged  her  to  abandon  the  idea 
of  her  husband's  return,  and  to  choose  from  among  the  rival 
aspirants  a  father  for  Telemachus  and  a  sovereign  for  Ithaca. 
She  exerted  all.  her  ingenuity,  and  put  in  practice  every  artifice 
which  she  could  invent,  to  defer  the  period  of  her  final  decision. 
In  the  seventeenth  year  of  her  solitude,  she  imagined  the  device 
which  is  so  indissolubly  connected  with  her  name,  engaging  to 
make  a  choice  when  she  should  have  completed  a  web  which  she 
was  then  weaving  as  a  funeral  ornament  for  Laertes,  Ulysses' 
father,  now  rapidly  sinking  to  the  grave.  The  suitors  gladly 
accepted  a  proposal  which  seemed  to  promise  a  speedy  termina- 
tion to  their  woes.  But  Penelope,  assiduously  unravelling  at 
night  what  she  had  woven  during  the  day,  protracted  for  three 
years  more  the  fatal  moment.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth, 
a  female  attendant  disclosed  the  pious  treachery.  These  inci- 
dents are  related  by  Homer  in  a  speech  placed  in  the  mouth  of 
Antinoiis,  the  most  turbulent  of  the  suitors.  Telemachus  had 
reproached  them  with  riotous  conduct,  alleging  that  their  prodi- 
gality had  well-nigh  drained  the  royal  coffers.  Antinoiis  thus 
replied : 

"  O  insolence  of  youth !  whose  tongue  afTords 
Snch  railing  eloquence  and  war  of  words; 
Studious  thy  country's  wortliies  to  defame, 
Thy  erring  voice  proclaims  thy  mother's  shame. 
Elusive  of  the  bridal  day,  she  gives 
Fond  hope  to  all,  and  all  with  hopes  deceives. 
Did  not  the  sun,  through  heaven's  wide  azure  roU'd, 
For  three  long  years  the  royal  fraud  behold  ? 
While  she,  laborious  in  delusion,  spread 


30  PENELOPE. 

The  spacious  loom  and  mixed  tlie  various  tliread : 
When,  as  to  life,  the  wondrous  figures  rise, 
Thus  spoke  th'  inventive  queen,  witli  artful  sighs  : 
'Though  cold  in  death  Ulysses  breathes  no  more, 
'  Cease  yet  awhile  to  urge  the  bridal  hour ; 
'  Cease  tUl  to  great  Laertes  I  bequeath 
'  A  task  of  grief,  his  ornaments  of  death. 
'  Lest  when  the  Fates  his  royal  ashes  claim, 
'  The  Grecian  matrons  taint  my  spotless  fame ; 
'  When  he  whom,  living,  mighty  realms  obeyed, 
'  Shall  want,  in  death,  a  shroud  to  grace  his  shade.' 
Thus  she :  at  once  the  generous  train  complies, 
Nor  fraud  mistrusts  in  virtue's  fair  disguise. 
The  work  she  plied,  but  studious  of  delay, 
By  night  revers'd  the  labors  of  the  day. 
While  thrice  the  sun  his  annual  journey  made. 
The  conscious  lamp  the  midnight  fraud  survey'd. 
Unheard,  unseen,  three  years  her  arts  prevail, 
The  fourth,  her  maid  unfolds  th'  amazing  tale. 
We  saw,  as  unperceiv'd  we  took  our  stand, 
The  backward  labors  of  her  faithless  hand. 
Then  urg'd,  she  perfects  her  illustrious  toils, 
A  wondrous  monument  of  female  wiles!" 


Ill  Ovid's  "Epistles  of  the  Heroines,"  is  a  letter  from  Pene- 
lope to  Ulysses,  in  which,  ignorant  of  the  causes  of  his  delay,  she 
chides  him  for  his  prolonged  absence,  and  with  persuasive  elo- 
quence entreats  him  to  return  : 

"  Ulysses,  thy  Penelope  sends  this  to  thee,  thus  delaying. 
But  write  me  nothing  in  answer  :  do  thou  come  thyself.  Troy, 
so  hateful  to  the  Grecian  fair,  doubtless  lies  prostrate  ;  hardly 
was  Priam,  and  the  wliole  of  Troy,  of  such  great  importance. 
Oh !  how  I  wish  that  at  the  time  when  he  was  making  for  Lace- 
daemon  with  his  fleet,  the  adulterer  had  been  overwhelmed  in 
the  raging  waves !  Then  I  had  not  lain  cold  in  a  deserted  bed, 
nor,  forlorn,  should  I  have  complained  that  the  days  pass  slowly 
on :  the  hanging  web  would  not  have  wearied  my  widowed 
hands,  as  I  seek  to  beguile  the  lingering  night. 

"  When  have  I  not  been  dreading  dangers  more  grievous 


PENELOPE.  31 

than  the  reaUty?  Love  is  a  thing  replete  with  anxious  fears. 
Against  thee  did  I  fancy  that  the  furious  Trojans  were  rushing 

on  ;  at  the  name  of  Hector  I  was  always  pale But  the 

righteous  god  had  a  regard  for  my  chaste  passion  ;  Troy  has 
been  reduced  to  ashes,  and  my  husband  survives.  The  Argive 
chieftains  have  returned  ;  the  altars  are  smoking  ;  the  spoils  of 
the  barbarians  are  offered  to  the  gods  of  our  country.  The 
damsels  newly  married  are  presenting  the  gifts  of  gratitude  for 
the  safe  return  of  their  husbands  ;  the  latter  are  celebrating 
the  destinies  of  Troy  overcome  by  their  own. 

"  But  what  avails  me  Ilion  hurled  down  by  thy  arms,  and 
that  level  ground  which  once  was  walls,  if  I  remain  just  as  I 
remained  while  Troy  was  flourishing,  and  if  thou,  my  husband, 
art  afar  from  me,  to  be  lamented  by  me  eternally  ?  Now  'tis 
a  field  of  corn  where  once  Troy  stood  ;  and  the  ground,  destined 
to  be  plied  with  the  sickle,  is  rich,  fattened  with  Phrygian  blood. 
Victorious,  thou  art  absent,  and  it  is  not  granted  to  me  to  know 
what  is  the  cause  of  thy  delaying,  or  in  what  corner  of  the  world, 
in  thy  cruelty,  thou  art  concealed.  Whoever  steers  his  stranger 
bark  to  these  shores,  departs  after  having  been  asked  by  me 
many  a  question  about  thee  ;  and  to  him  is  intrusted  the  paper 
inscribed  with  my  fingers  for  him  to  deliver  to  thee,  if  he  should 
only  see  thee  anywhere. 

"  More  to  my  advantage  would  the  walls  of  Troy  be  standing 
even  now.  I  should  then  know  where  thou  art  fighting,  and 
warfare  alone  should  I  dread,  and  with  those  of  many  others 
would  my  complaints  be  joined.  What  to  fear  I  know  not ; 
still,  bewildered,  I  dread  everything ;  and  a  wide  field  lies  open 
for  my  apprehensions.  Whatever  dangers  the  sea  presents, 
whatever  the  land,  these  I  suspect  to  be  the  causes  of  a  delay 
so  prolonged. 

"  While  in  my  folly  I  am  imagining  these  things,  such  is  the 
inconstancy  of  you  men,  that  thou  mayest  be  captivated  by 
some  foreign  beauty.     Perhaps,  too,  thou  mayest  be  telling  how 


32  PENELOPE. 

homely  thy  wife  is,  who  minds  only  the  spindle  and  the  distaff. 
May  I  prove  mistaken,  and  may  this  charge  vanish  into  unsub- 
stantial air  ;  and  mayest  thou  not,  if  free  to  return,  still  desire 
to  be  absent !  My  father,  Icarius,  urges  me  to  leave  a  widowed 
bed,  and  is  always  chiding  thy  protracted  delay.  Let  him  chide 
on  ;  thine  I  am,  thy  Penelope  must  I  be  called  ;  the  wife  of 
Ulysses  wiU  I  ever  be.  Suitors  from  Dulychium,  and  Samos, 
and  the  lofty  Zacynthus,  a  wanton  crew,  are  besetting  me  ;  and 
in  thy  palace  do  they  rule,  with  no  one  to  hinder  them  ;  thy 

wealth,  our  very  entrails,  are  they  dissipating I  have  no 

strength  to  drive  the  enemy  from  thy  abode  ;  come  speedily, 
then,  the  refuge  and  sanctuary  of  thy  family. 

"  Thou  hast,  and  long  mayest  thou  have,  a  son,  who  in  his 
tender  years  ought  to  have  been  trained  to  the  virtues  of  his 
father.  Think  of  Laertes  ;  that  thou  mayest  close  his  eyes 
he  still  drags  on  the  closing  hours  of  his  existence.  I,  no  doubt, 
who  was  but  a  girl  when  thou  didst  depart,  shall  seem  to  have 
become  an  old  woman,  though  thou  shouldst  return  at  once." 

Penelope,  in  the  language  thus  attributed  to  her  by  Ovid, 
draws  no  exaggerated  picture  of  the  unseemly  conduct  of  the 
aspirants  to  her  favor.  Their  number,  alone,  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  render  their  cause  odious  to  the  fair  object  of  their 
vows.  The  little  island  of  Dulychium — one  of  a  cluster  to  the 
west  of  the  Peloponnesus — had  contributed  fifty-two,  and  Samos 
— now  Cephalonia — twenty-four.  They  had  gathered  from  all 
quarters  of  the  insular  realm  of  Ulysses,  and  from  the  adjacent 
isles  which  acknowledged  his  sway — in  all,  one  hundred  and 
eight.  The  names  and  characters  of  several  of  them  have  been 
preserved.  Eurymachus  and  Antinous  were  the  chief  in  i-ank, 
the  former  being  the  candidate  preferred  by  Laertes  above  his 
rivals.  One  Medon,  a  herald,  is  mentioned  as  being  personally 
disagreeable  ;  Irus,  a  beggar  of  Ithaca,  seems  to  have  based 
his  claim  upon  his  gigantic  size  ;  Melanthius,  Ulysses'  goatherd, 
was  admitted  by  the  suitors  among  them,  in  view  of  the  services 


PENELOPE.  33 

he  might  render  in  supplying  their  table  with  the  flesh  of  the 
royal  flocks.  Homer  thus  depicts  their  extravagance  through 
the  mouth  of  Telemachus  : 

"  Still  through  my  conrt  the  noise  of  revel  rings 
And  wastes  the  wise  frugality  of  Icings ; 
Scarce  all  my  herds  their  luxury  suffice, 
Scarce  all  my  wine  their  midnight  hours  supplies ; 
Safe  in  my  youth,  in  riot  still  thoy  grow. 
Nor  in  the  lielpless  orphan  dread  a  foe." 

Ulysses  was  not  altogether  unworthy  of  his  wife  and  son. 
It  is  true  that  he  lived  eight  years  with  the  ocean  nymph, 
Calypso,  in  her  enclianted  island  Ortygia,  but  as  he  had  no 
vessel  or  other  means  of  getting  away,  he  can  hardly  be  blamed 
for  remaining.  Minerva  called  a  council  of  the  gods,  and 
complained  to  Jupiter  of  Calypso's  forced  detention  of  the 
king  of  Ithaca.  We  have  the  authority  of  the  goddess  for 
asserting  that  the  infidelity  of  Ulysses  was  totally  beyond  his 
control.     She  thus  described  his  situation  : 

"  Sole  in  an  isle,  encircled  by  the  main, 
Abandon'd,  banish'd  from  his  native  reign ; 
Unblest  he  sighs,  detain'd  by  lawless  charms, 
And  prest,  unwilling,  in  Calypso's  arms. 
Nor  friends  are  there,  nor  vessel  to  convey, 
Nor  oars  to  cut  th'  immeasurable  way." 

Mercury  was  commissioned  by  Jupiter  to  proceed  to  Ortygia, 
and  to  communicate  to  Calypso  the  desire,  nay  the  will,  of  the 
gods  that  Ulysses  be  released  and  furnished  with  the  means 
of  returning  to  his  home.  The  conversation  which  ensued 
between  them  after  the  delivery  of  the  message,  sufficiently 
characterizes  their  respective  situations  : 

"  Ulysses !  with  a  sigh  slie  thus  began, 
O  sprang  from  gods !  in  wisdom  more  than  man ! 
Is  then  thy  home  the  passion  of  tliy  heart  ? 
Thus  wilt  thou  leave  mo  ?     Are  we  thus  to  part  ? 
5 


34  PENELOPE. 

Farewell,  and  ever  joyful  mayst  thon  be — 

Nor  break  tlie  transport  with  one  thought  of  me. 

But  oh !  Ulysses,  wert  thou  given  to  know 

What  fate  yet  dooms  thee  still  to  undergo. 

Thy  heart  might  settle  in  this  scene  of  ease. 

And  e'en  these  slighted  charms  might  learn  to  please. 

A  willing  goddess  and  immortal  life 

Might  banish  from  thy  mind  an  absent  wife. 

Am  I  inferior  to  a  mortal  dame  ? 

Less  soft  my  features,  less  august  my  frame  ? 

Or  shall  the  daughters  of  mankind  compare 

Their  earth-born  beauties  with  the  heavenly  fair  ?" 

Ulysses,  deaf  to  these  solicitations — for,  as  has  been  said, 
he  had  been  eight  years  upon  the  island — thus  in  Homeric  verse 
returned  reply  : 

"  Lov'd  and  ador'd,  O  goddess,  as  thou  art, 
Forgive  the  weakness  of  a  human  heart. 
Tho'  well  I  see  thy  graces  far  above 
The  dear,  tho'  mortal  object  of  my  love. 
Of  youth  eternal  well  the  difference  know, 
And  the  short  date  of  fading  charms  below. 
Yet  every  day,  while  absent  thus  I  roam, 
I  languish  to  return  and  die  at  home." 

At  last,  after  having  once  more  suffered  the  horrors  of 
shipwreck,  Ulysses,  guided  by  Minerva,  set  foot  upon  the  coast 
of  Ithaca.  Yielding  to  the  advice  of  the  goddess,  he  consented 
to  assume  the  guise  of  a  beggar,  that  he  might  mingle  with 
the  throngs  that  swarmed  about  his  palace,  and  witness  for 
himself  the  wanton  revels  of  the  suitors  : 

"  A  swift  old  ago  o'er  all  his  members  spread ; 
A  sudden  frost  was  sprinkled  on  his  head  ; 
Nor  longer  in  the  heavy  eyeball  shin'd 
Tho  glance  divine,  forth  beaming  from  the  mind. 
His  robe,  which  spots  indelible  besmear, 
In  rags  dishonest  flutters  with  the  air. 
A  stag's  torn  hide  is  lapt  about  his  reins; 
A  rugged  stall'  his  trcmbluig  hand  sustains  ; 


PENELOPE.  35 

And  at  his  side  a  wretched  scrip  was  hung, 
Wide  patch'd  and  knotted  to  a  twisted  thong. 
So  look'd  the  chief,  so  mov'd ;  to  mortal  eyes 
Object  uncouth  !     A  man  of  miseries !" 

Thus  disguised,  Ulysses  proceeded  to  the  lodge  of  Eumasus, 
his  faithful  swineherd.  He  found  the  veteran  engaged  in  making 
buskins,  and  in  watching  over  the  scarce  four  hundred  poi'kers 
which  remained,  "  doomed  to  supply  the  suitors'  wasteful  feast." 
Two  of  them,  however,  were  destined  to  be  put  to  a  more 
legitimate  use,  for  Eumgeus,  compassionating  the  stranger's 
wretched  plight,  was  moved  to  deeds  of  hospitality  : 

"  Straight  to  the  lodgment  of  his  herd  he  ran, 
Where  the  fat  porkers  slept  beneath  the  sun. 
Of  two  his  cutlass  launch'd  the  spouting  blood  ; 
These  quarter'd,  sing'd,  and  fix'd  on  forks  of  wood. 
All  hasty  on  the  hissing  coals  he  threw ; 
And,  smoking,  back  the  tasteful  viands  drew, 
Broachers  and  all :  then  on  the  board  display'd 
The  ready  meal,  before  Ulysses  laid. 
With  flour  imbrown'd ;  next  mingled  wine  yet  new, 
And  luscious  as  the  bee's  nectareous  dew." 

The  poet  having  thus  embellished  a  prosaic  theme — the 
cooking  and  serving  of  a  pork  steak — proceeds  to  treat  a  subject 
more  obviously  within  the  scope  of  his  art — the  meeting  of 
father  and  son,  and  the  manner  in  which  Ulysses,  at  the  behest 
of  Minerva,  discovered  himself  to  Telemachus.  They  then  con- 
sulted together  upon  the  means  they  should  employ  to  disperse 
or  destroy  the  suitors.  Telemachus  was  of  opinion,  that  as  they 
were  but  two,  while  the  suitors  numbered  one  hundred  and 
eight,  it  was  best  to  dispose  of  them  singly.  Ulysses  was 
introduced  to  the  palace  in  his  beggar's  garb  ;  his  dog  Argus 
recognized  him  in  his  tatters  : 

"  The  dog,  whom  fate  had  granted  to  behold 
His  lord,  when  twenty  tedious  years  had  roH'd, 
Takes  a  last  look,  and  having  seen  him,  dies  ; 
So  clos'd  forever  faithful  Argus'  eyes." 


36  PENELOPE. 

Ulysses,  in  pursuance  of  the  plan  he  had  formed,  stooped  to 
beg  at  his  own  table,  and  to  accept  in  grateful  humility  the 
morsels  which  the  rioters  gave  him,  at  the  same  time  taunting 
his  poverty  and  his  age.  At  last  the  mendicant  wooer  Irus, 
having  forgotten  himself  so  far  as  to  wonder  why  he  did  not 
dash  Ulysses'  teeth  out,  the  suitors  proposed  a  fight,  promising 
to  stand  neutral,  and  to  be  the  arbiters  of  the  fray.  Ulysses, 
reserving  half  his  strength,  lest  he  might  otherwise  disclose  the 
latent  hero,  dealt  Irus  a  blow  upon  his  jaw-bone,  the  effects  of 
which  are  thus  described  : 

"  Down  dropp'd  he  stupid  from  the  stunning  wound  ; 
His  feet  extended,  quivering,  heat  the  ground 
His  mouth  and  nostrils  spont  a  purple  flood, 
Uis  teeth,  all  shatter'd,  rush  immix'd  with  hlood. 
The  peers  transported,  as  outstretoh'd  he  lies, 
With  hursts  of  laughter  rend  the  vaulted  skies." 

Penelope,  who  rarely  gratified  the  train  of  aspirants  by  her 
presence,  was  induced  by  her  maids  to  descend  during  the 
sojourn  of  Ulysses.  They  besought  her  to  appear  bathed, 
anointed  and  adorned  : 

"Ah  me,  forhear,  returns  the  queen,  forhear; 
Oh,  talk  not,  talk  not  of  vain  heauty's  care ; 
No  more  I  hathe,  since  he  no  longer  sees 
Those  charms,  for  whom  alone  I  wisli  to  please ; 
The  day  that  hore  Ulysses  from  this  coast, 
Blasted  the  little  hloom  these  cheeks  could  hoast ; 
But  instant  hid  Autonoe  descend. 
Instant  llippodame  our  steps  attend ; 
111  suits  it  female  virtue  to  he  seen 
Alone,  indecent,  in  the  walks  of  men. 
Then  while  Eurynome  the  mandate  hears, 
From  llcavon  Minerva  shoots  with  guardian  cares  ; 
O'er  all  her  senses,  as  her  couch  she  prest. 
She  pours  a  pleasing,  deep  and  death-like  rest: 
With  every  heauty  every  feature  arms, 
Bids  her  cheeks  glow,  aud  lights  up  all  her  charms  ; 


PENELOPE.  37 

In  her  love-darting  eyes  awakes  tlio  fires — 
Immortal  gifts  I  to  kindle  soft  desires — 
From  limb  to  limb  an  air  majestic  sheds, 
And  the  pure  ivory  o'er  her  bosom  spreads." 

Ulysses  witnessed  the  interview  which  succeeded  between 
his  queen  and  the  one  hundred  and  eight.  She  did  not  hesitate 
to  reproach  them  with  their  unusual  style  of  wooing,  which 
consisted  in  consuming  the  substance  of  her  whose  heart  they 
sought  to  win  : 

"  Careless  to  please,  with  insolence  ye  woo ! 
The  generous  lovers,  studious  to  succeed, 
Bid  their  whole  herds  and  flocks  in  banquets  bleed ; 
By  precious  gifts  the  vow  sincere  display ; 
You,  only  yon,  make  her  ye  love  your  prey. 
Well  pleased  Ulysses  hears  his  queen  deceive 
The  suitor  train,  and  raise  a  thirst  to  give ; 
False  hopes  she  kindles,  but  these  hopes  betray, 
And  promise,  yet  elude,  the  bridal  day." 

The  suitors,  whose  generosity  was  thus  stimulated,  laid  their 
several  offerings  at  the  feet  of  their  unwilling  hostess.  These 
hardly  seem  to  have  been  of  a  value  proportionate  to  the  ardor 
of  their  suit ;  indeed  they  were  far  from  presenting  an  equivalent 
for  the  forced  entertainment  they  had  wrung  from  the  reluctant 
household.  Antinoiis  gave  a  robe  of  shining  dyes,  with  twelve 
gold  clasps  ;  Eurymachus,  an  amber  bracelet  set  in  gold,  and  a 
pair  of  ear-rings,  tremulous  with  the  flickering  light  of  triple 
stars  ;  Pisander,  a  necklace  wrought  with  art.  The  poet  pursues 
,  the  shabby  inventory  no  farther,  merely  adding,  in  a  general 
way,  that : 

"  Every  peer,  expressive  of  his  heart, 
A  gift  bestows." 

Penelope,  compelled  at  last  to  fix  a  term  to  her  widowhood, 
and  forced  to  choose  from  the   one    hundred    and    eight,    was 


38  PENELOPE. 

inspired  by  Minerva  with  an  idea  of  Olympian  origin.     She  thus 
addressed  the  suitor  train  in  the  hearing  of  Ulysses  : 

"  Say  you,  whom  these  forbidden  walls  inclose, 
For  whom  my  victims  bleed,  my  vintage  flows, 
If  these  neglected,  faded  charms  can  move. 
Or  is  it  but  a  vain  pretence,  you  love  ? 
If  I  the  prize,  if  me  you  seek  to  wife. 
Hear  the  conditions  and  commence  the  strife  : 
Who  first  Ulysses'  wondrous  bow  shall  bend. 
And  through  twelve  ringlets  the  fleet  arrow  send, 
Him  will  I  follow,  and  forsake  my  home. 
For  him  forsake  this  lov'd,  this  wealthy  dome. 
Long,  long  the  scene  of  all  my  past  delight, 
And  stUl  to  last  the  vision  of  my  night !" 

The  bow  of  Ulysses  was  taken  from  the  massive  case  in 
which  it  had  so  long  reposed  ;  and  a  coffer  containing  six  brass 
and  as  many  silver  rings  was  brought  upon  the  ground.  Pene- 
lope sat,  veiled,  in  the  portal  of  the  palace,  with  a  handmaid  on 
either  side,  watching  the  progress  of  the  tilt.  Leiodes,  a  priest, 
and  the  only  suitor  whose  conscience  smote  him  for  the  un- 
worthy part  he  was  enacting,  was  the  first  to  whom  the  trial 
fell.     After  indulging  the  reflection,  that  it  would  be  far  better 


"  With  some  humble  wife  to  live, 
Whom  gold  should  gain  or'destiny  should  give," 


he  rejected  the  bow  and  abandoned  the  contest.  From  hand  to 
hand  passed  the  sturdy  weapon.  One  hundred  and  five  of  the 
suitors  tugged  in  vain  at  its  rebellious  string ;  none  remained  but 
Eurymachus  and  Antinoiis.  Attributing  a  portion  of  its  resist- 
ance to  the  inertia  acquired  in  twenty  years'  repose,  they  resolved 
to  try  the  effect  of  a  little  lubrication.  A  pile  was  prepared  and 
set  on  fire  : 

"With  melted  lard  they  soak  tlie  weapon  o'er. 
Chafe  every  knot,  and  sn])ple  every  pore. 
Vain  all  their  art,  and  all  their  strength  as  vain. 
The  bow  inflexible  resists  their  pain." 


PENELOPE.  39 

Thus  discomfited,  tliey  suddenly  remembered  that  the  day 
was  sacred  to  Apollo,  and  ascribed  their  failure  to  the  anger  of 
the  god  at  the  neglect  of  his  anniversary.  So  they  resolved  to 
postpone  the  trial  till  the  morrow,  and  spend  the  remainder  of 
the  day  in  sacrifice  and  wassail.  In  the  meantime,  Ulysses 
requested  permission  to  essay  the  reluctant  instrument.  The 
suitors  scoffingly  consented,  mocking  at  his  withered  arm  and 
shrunken  muscle  : 

"  And  now  his  well-known  bow  the  master  bore, 
Turn'd  on  all  sides,  and  view'd  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
Lest  time  or  worms  had  done  the  weapon  wrong. 
Its  owner  absent,  and  untried  so  long. 
While  some  deriding — How  he  turns  the  bow ! 
Some  other  like  it  sure  the  man  must  know, 
Or  else  would  copy  ;  or  in  bows  he  deals ; 
Perhaps  he  makes  them,  or  perhaps  he  steals. 

Heedless  he  heard  them,  but  disdain'd  reply. 
The  bow  perusing  with  exactest  eye. 
From  his  essaying  hand  the  string  let  fly, 
Twang'd  short  and  sharp,  like  the  shrill  swallow's  cry. 
A  general  horror  i-an  through  all  the  race. 
Sick  was  each  heart  and  pale  was  every  face ; 
Signs  from  above  ensued :  th'  unfolding  sky 
In  lightning  burst ;  Jove  thundered  from  on  high. 
Fir'd  at  the  call  of  Heaven's  Almighty  Lord, 
He  suatch'd  the  shaft  that  glitter'd  on  the  board : 
Then,  sitting  as  he  was,  the  cord  he  drew. 
Through  every  ringlet  levelling  his  view  ; 
Then  notch'd  the  shaft,  releas'd  and  gave  it  wiug. 
The  whizzing  arrow  vanished  from  the  string. 
Sung  on  direct,  and  threaded  every  ring. 
The  solid  gate  its  fury  scarcely  bounds, 
Pierc'd  thro'  and  thro',  the  solid  gate  resounds. 
Then  fierce  the  hero  o'er  the  threshold  strode; 
Stript  of  his  rags,  he  blazed  out  like  a  god!" 


Ulysses  commenced  the  slaughter  of  the  suitors  by  the  death 
of  Antinolis,  who,  at  the  moment  of  raising  a  goblet  and  drawing  a 
long  breath,  in  order  to  drain  it  at  a  draught,  received  the  second 


40  PENELOPE. 

arrow  of  the  quiver  full  in  his  throat.  Eurymachus,  who  now 
deplored  that  privilege  of  birth  which  had  placed  him  next  in 
rank  to  Antinoiis,  and  naturally  entitled  him  to  be  disposed  of 
in  his  turn,  proposed  a  compromise  to  Ulysses.  He  acknow- 
ledged the  errors  of  the  suitors,  and  was  disposed  to  confess  the 
whole  amount  of  the  wrongs  the  king  had  sustained  in  his 
despoiled  palace  and  exhausted  land.  Still,  he  was  of  the 
opinion  that  Antinoiis  was  responsible  for  all  the  depredations 
which  the  other  suitors,  his  inferiors,  had  committed  ;  and 
Antinoiis,  he  said,  had  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  crimes.  He  sug- 
gested that  Ulysses  restrain  his  indignation,  and  permit  the  one 
hundred  and  seven  to  defray  the  expenses  they  had  occasioned, 
by  gifts  of  brass,  gold  and  treasures  ;  adding,  that  each  prince 
would  be  glad  to  add  a  bonus  of  two  hundred  oxen  ;  thus,  he 
urged,  the  waste  of  years  would  be  refunded  in  a  day.  Ulysses 
spurned  the  bribe,  and  pierced  Eurymachus  incontinently  through 
the  liver.  Anphinomus,  slain  by  Telemachus,  was  the  third 
victim.  The  suitors,  aided  by  Melanthius,  having  ransacked  the 
royal  magazine,  and  confident  in  their  immense  superiority  of 
numbers,  combined  against  the  mad  archer  and  his  presumptuous 
son.  Ulysses,  Telemachus  and  Euma3us,  contended  with  varying 
success  against  these  fearful  odds.  At  length,  Minerva,  descend- 
ing in  the  friendly  form  of  Mentor,  joined  the  Ithacensian  forces. 
Javelins  and  arrows  rained  thick  and  fast ;  Minerva  turned  the 
shafts  of  the  enemy  aside  with  her  breath,  and  they  fell  harmless 
and  spent,  short  and  wide  of  the  mark.  Not  so  those  of  the 
Ithacans  :  the  bulletin  of  the  fight,  compiled  by  Homer  from 
official  records,  suggests  to  the  reader  an  early  Jacquerie  or  a 
classic  St.  Bartholomew.  Agelaus,  Eurynomus,  Pisander,  Am- 
phimedon,  Polybus,  Demoptolemus,  Elatus,  Eurydamus,  Ctesip- 
pus,  Damastorides,  Leocritus,  Leiodes,  in  turn  met  their  doom ; 
in  short,  one  hundred  and  six  out  of  one  hundred  and  eight. 
Phemius,  a  poet,  and  Medon,  the  herald  of  unprepossessing 
appearance,  alone  were  spared  : 


PENELOPE.  41 

"  Witli  timorous  awe, 
From  the  dire  scene  tli'  exempted  two  withdraw, 
Scarce  sure  of  life,  look  round  and  trembling  move 
To  the  bright  altar  of  Protector  Jove. 
Meanwhile  Ulysses  search'd  the  dome,  to  find 
If  yet  there  live  of  all  th'  offending  kind. 
Not  one !  complete  the  bloody  task  he  found. 
All  steep'd  in  blood,  all  gasping  on  the  ground." 

Penelope,  during  the  progress  of  the  fight,  lay  wrapped  m 
sleep.  Euryclea  awoke  her  with  the  glad  tidings  of  the  return 
of  the  hero  and  the  destruction  of  the  suitors.  The  queen 
listened  with  incredulity,  and  even  when  brought  into  the 
presence  of  her  lord,  refused  to  believe  : 

"  Amaz'd  she  sat,  and  impotent  to  speak. 
O'er  all  the  man  her  eyes  she  rolls  in  vain ; 
Now  hopes,  now  fears,  now  know.«,  now  doubts  again. 
At  length  Telemachus — Oh,  who  can  find 
A  woman  like  Penelope  unkind  I 
Why  thus  in  silence  ?  why,  with  winning  charms, 
Thus  slow  to  fly  with  rapture  to  his  .arms  ? 
Stubborn  the  breast  that  with  no  transport  glows, 
When  twice  ten  years  are  past  of  mighty  woes ; 
To  softness  lost,  to  spousal  love  unknown. 
The  gods  have  formed  that  rigid  heart  of  stone!" 

Penelope's  distrust,  however,  was  not  altogether  without 
reason  :  Ulysses  was  still  dressed  in  his  beggar's  garb,  and  the 
frosts  of  threescore  years  and  ten  lay  cold  and  white  upon  his 
brow.  Twenty  years  was  indeed  a  long  time,  but  it  would 
hardly  explain  such  a  transformation  as  this.  So  Minerva 
recalled  her  spell,  and  Ulysses  shone  forth  in  the  splendor  of  his 
royalty  and  his  manhood  : 

'The  warrior  goddess  gives  his  frame  to  shine, 
With  majesty  enlarg'd  and  grace  divine ; 
Back  from  his  brows  in  wavy  ringlets  fly 
His  thick  large  locks,  of  hyacinthine  dye." 

G 


42  PENELOPE. 

Penelope  believed  at  last  ;  and  she  fell  upon  Ulysses'  neck 
and  wept.  This,  the  poet  tells  us,  was  in  the  evening  ;  and 
he  adds  that  the  night  which  followed,  was  an  unusually 
protracted  one,  inasmuch 

"As  Pallas  backward  held  the  rising  day, 
The  wheels  of  night  retai-ding." 

Here,  in  the  twenty-third  book  of  the  Odyssey,  the  story  of 
Penelope  ends.  The  daughter  of  Icarius  was  more  fortunate 
in  death  than  in  life  :  she  fovmd  a  historian  in  Homer  ;  an 
editor  in  Ovid  ;  and  in  Fenelon  a  biographer  for  her  son. 
But  Penelope  would  have  lived  forever  without  either  the 
poet  or  the  archbishop  :  an  assertion  which  we  shall  soon 
have  occasion  to  sustain  inferentially,  in  showing  how  three 
ungrammatical  lines  of  an  inferior  Roman  annalist  have  con- 
ferred immortality  upon  Cornelia,  a  sister  heroine. 


CORNELIA. 


One  thousand  years  have  passed  ;  the  lapse  of  centuries 
carries  us  from  Ithaca  to  Latiiyn  ;  we  glide  from  mythology  into 
history,  citing  Plutarch  where  we  lately  quoted  Homer  ;  our 
theme  no  longer  the  Greek  Penelope,  but  the  Roman  Corneha, 
Scipio  Africanus  her  father,  and  the  two  Gracchi  her  sons. 

Cornelia  was  the  youngest  of  the  four  children  of  Scipio 
Africanus  the  Elder  and  Emilia  his  wife.  She  was  born  one 
hundred  and  eighty-nine  years  before  Christ.  No  details  have 
reached  us  of  her  early  life  ;  we  are  briefly  informed  that  upon 
the  death  of  Scipio,  the  friends  of  the  family,  in  selecting  a  hus- 
band for  the  peerless  Cornelia,  fixed  their  choice  upon  Tiberius 
Sempronius  Gracchus,  a  tribune  of  the  people,  and  until  lately 
an  enemy  of  Africanus.  He  had,  however,  in  the  crisis  of  Sci- 
pio's  fortunes,  separated  himself  from  his  colleagues,  and  forget- 
ting his  private  resentment,  made  a  vigorous  and,  as  the  event 
proved,  successful  effort  in  behalf  of  his  political  foe.  This 
graceful  and  honorable  act  was  rewarded  by  the  hand  of  Cor- 
nelia, and  the  marriage  took  place  one  hundred  and  sixty-nine 
years  before  Christ,  the  bride  being  in  her  twentieth  year. 

The  union  was  a  happy  one,  and  Cornelia  was  twelve  times  a 
mother.     Tiberius  was  once  honored  with  the  censorship,  and 


44  COKNELIA. 

twice  with  the  consulate.  The  care  of  the  household  and  the 
education  of  the  family  devolved  wholly  upon  Cornelia,  and  she 
acquitted  herself  of  the  duties  in  a  manner  which  has  elicited  the 
admiration  of  the  world.  She  maintained  in  herself  and  trans- 
mitted to  her  sons  the  grand  and  severe  virtues  of  her  father. 
She  had  inherited  from  Scipio  a  love  for  the  arts  and  for  litera- 
ture, and  her  letters,  which  were  extant  in  the  time  of  Quin- 
tilian — two  hundred  years  afterwards — were  often  cited  with 
praise  by  him  and  by  Cicero. 

It  has  been  intimated  by  the  French  historian  Rollin,  that 
Cornelia  did  not  bear  her  honors  meekly,  and  that  she  placed  an 
undue  estimate  upon  herself  and  her  family.  He  cites  a  passage 
from  Juvenal  as  his  authority  for  this  opinion.  But  it  is  appa- 
rent from  the  text,  that  the  satirist  intended  no  such  insinu- 
ation :  • 

"Malo  Vennsinam  quam  te,  Cornelia,  mater 
Gracchorum,  si,  cum  magnis  virtutibus,  affers 
Grande  supercilium,  et  numeras  in  dote  triumphos." 

The  meaning  evidently  is,  that  he  would  prefer  a  Venusian 
village  girl  to  Cornelia,  if,  with  her  transcendent  virtues,  the 
mother  of  the  Gracchi  brought  a  supercilious  brow  and  boastful 
tongue.  Dryden's  paraphrase  clearly  shows  that  Juvenal's  lines 
arc  not  to  be  understood  in  a  reproachful  sense  : 

"  Some  country  girl,  scarce  to  a  curtsey  bred, 
Would  I  much  rather  than  Cornelia  wed, 
If,  supercilious,  lianghty,  proud  and  vain. 
She  brought  her  father's  triumphs  in  her  train." 

Cornelia's  happiness  was  now  violently  interrupted.  Tibe- 
rius, according  to  a  legend  which  Cicei'o  and  Plutarch  think  not 
unworthy  of  record,  found,  on  awaking  one  morning,  a  pair  of 
serpents  upon  his  bed.  He  narrated  the  circumstance  to  the 
soothsayers,  asking  their  interpretation  of  the  prodigy.  They 
considered  the   matter,  and   finally  reported   as   follows  :    The 


COKNELIA.  45 

serpents  were,  in  their  opinion,  prophetic,  and  their  appearance 
together  could  not  he  regarded  in  any  other  hght  than  that  of 
an  omen.  If  Tiberius  killed  the  male,  his  death,  they  said,  wovdd 
be  the  consequence :  if  he  killed  the  female,  he  would  lose  his 
wife  Cornelia.  With  that  peculiar  obtuseness  which  seems  to  be 
a  besetting  and  inevitable  weakness  in  the  minds  of  those  con- 
sulting oracles  or  interpreting  omens,  Tiberius  did  not  perceive 
the  possibility  of  releasing  both  the  serpents  and  of  killing 
neither- — thus  preserving  the  life  of  his  wife  without  sacrificing 
his  own.  Convinced,  however,  of  the  existence  of  a  dilemma, 
and  believing  that  an  alternative  alone  was  left  him,  he  thought 
within  himself  that  he  was  much  older  than  Cornelia,  and  conse- 
quently, in  the  order  of  nature,  nearer  the  close  of  his  career ; 
he  reflected  that  the  children  had  more  need  of  their  mother  by 
whom  they  had  been  reared,  than  of  their  father  whom  they 
rarely  saw,  and  concluded  that  it  was  more  suitable  for  him  to 
die  than  for  her.  He  therefore  killed  the  male  serpent,  and 
soon  after  perished,  leaving  his  twelve  sons  and  daughters  to  the 
care  of  Cornelia. 

Though  deeply  bowed  by  this  affliction,  the  widow  gave  her 
whole  soul  to  the  augmented  duties  which  now  devolved  upon 
her.  In  her  prosperity,  she  had  excited  admiration  ;  in  her  ad- 
versity, she  won  the  love  and  respect  of  the  nation.  All  who 
knew  her  acknowledged  that  Tiberius  had  acted  wisely  in  choos- 
ing to  die  for  so  excellent  a  woman.  During  her  widowhood 
she  lost  nine  children  by  successive  bereavements,  devoting  her- 
self, however,  with  increased  assiduity  to  the  instruction  of  those 
who  remained.  She  was  left,  at  last,  with  one  daughter,  Sem- 
pronia,  and  two  sons,  Tiberius  and  Caius.  She  seems  to  have 
concentrated  upon  these  two  boys  the  tenderness  which  she  had 
before  shared  with  their  brothers,  and  to  have  bestowed  upon 
the  culture  of  their  minds  the  most  affectionate  care  ;  so  that, 
although  they  possessed  all  the  advantages  of  an  illustrious  birth 
and  name,  and  were  endowed  with  the  happiest  gifts  of  genius 


46  CORNELIA. 

and  disposition,  education  was  allowed  to  have  contributed  more 
to  their  perfections  than  nature. 

The  historians  of  Rome  have  given  undue  importance  to 
Cornelia's  refusal  of  a  crown,  which  one  of  the  Ptolemies  of 
Egypt  offered  her,  together  with  his  hand  and  a  seat  upon 
his  throne.  The  offer  was  not  one  which  she  would  have  been 
likely  to  accept,  as  the  king  who  made  it — and  who  can  have 
been  no  other  than  Ptolemy  Physco — was  in  every  way 
unworthy  of  her.  He  was  one  of  the  most  brutal  tyrants 
mentioned  in  history  ;  his  body  was  so  swollen  and  bloated 
by  intemperance,  that  he  was  unable  to  walk,  and  never 
appeared  before  his  subjects,  unless  mounted  upon  a  chariot 
and  supported  by  trusses  and  other  ingenious  devices.  Cornelia 
must  be  supposed  to  have  been  fully  acquainted  with  his 
infirmities,  as  Publius  Scipio,  afterwards  known  as  Africanus 
the  Younger,  and  the  husband  of  her  daughter  Sempronia, 
had  been  sent  by  the  Romans  upon  an  embassy  to  Alexandria, 
where  he  had  dined  in  the  palace  of  the  king,  and  had  been 
a  daily  witness  of  his  excesses.  It  is  attributing  an  unreason- 
able influence  to  royal  grandeur,  to  imagine  it  capable  of 
perverting  the  judgment  of  a  woman  like  Corneha,  or  to  sup- 
pose her  to  have  exercised  self-denial  in  declining  the  proffer- 
ed honor. 

The  reply  of  Cornelia  to  a  wealthy  lady  of  Campania,  who 
requested  to  see  her  jewels,  is  the  most  memorable  incident 
in  her  career.  Adroitly  turning  the  conversation  upon  subjects 
likely  to  interest  and  detain  her  visitor,  till  Tiberius  and 
Caius  came  home  from  school,  she  said,  as  they  entered  the 
room,  "These  are  my  jewels!"  Probably  no  character  was 
ever  so  clearly  drawn  in  so  few  words  ;  no  delineation  can 
possibly  add  to  it ;  if  notliing  were  known  of  Corneha  but* 
tliis  one  speech,  the  historian  would  still  find  it  a  sufficient 
basis  upon  which  to  construct  the  whole  character.  The  three 
obscure  lines  in  which  Valerius  Maximus  narrates  the  anecdote, 


CORNELIA.  47 

introducing  it  merely  as  an  incidental  illustration  of  his  subject 
in  his  discourse  De  Paupertate,  have  probably  been  as  often 
translated,  as  widely  repeated,  and  as  deeply  reflected  upon, 
as  any  other  three  which  have  been  left  us  by  the  writers  of 
antiquity. 

There  was  a  difference  of  nine  years  in  the  ages  of  Tiberius 
and  Caius  ;  they  attained  their  political  ascendency,  therefore, 
at  different  periods.  Had  they  flourished  together  and  acted 
in  concert,  their  power  would  doubtless  have  been  irresistible. 
Their  separation  in  time  was  a  serious  disadvantage,  and 
probably  prevented  their  success.  Tiberius  enjoyed  a  high 
reputation  for  virtue,  sobriety,  temperance,  at  an  age  when 
youth  is  looked  upon  as  an  excuse,  or  at  least  a  palliation,  for 
idleness  and  vice.  He  was  admitted  to  the  college  of  Augurs, 
as  a  compliment  to  his  character  rather  than  in  recognition 
of  his  birth.  An  anecdote  of  the  period  shows  in  what  esteem 
he  was  held,  and  what  fruits  the  careful  nurture  of  his  mother 
had  already  borne  : 

Appius  Claudius,  who  had  been  both  censor  and  consul,  and 
whose  honorable  discharge  of  his  duties  had  since  raised  him 
to  the  rank  of  President  of  the  Senate,  was  one  evening  taking 
supper  with  the  Augurs  ;  he  conversed  a  long  time  with 
Tiberius,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  entertainment,  offered  him 
his  daughter  Claudia  in  marriage.  Tiberius,  who  must  be 
presumed  to  have  been  acquainted  with  the  lady,  accepted 
the  proposal  with  joy  and  alacrity.  Appius  went  immediately 
home  to  communicate  the  tidings  to  his  wife.  "  Antistia,  my 
love,"  he  said,  on  entering  the  house,  "  I  have  contracted  our 
daughter  Claudia."  Antistia,  surprised  and  perhaps  vexed  at 
her  husband's  omission  to  consult  her  upon  so  momentous  a 
subject,  exclaimed,  "  Why  so  suddenly?  I  cannot  conceive  why 
you  should  act  thus  hastily,  unless,  indeed,  Tiberius  Gracchus 
be  the  man  you  have  pitched  upon  !"  The  worthy  matron  was 
doubtless  conciliated   by  the   reply  that  it  was  no  other  than 


48  CORNELIA. 

Tiberius — a  choice  which  neither  required  reflection  on  the  part 
of  the  mother,  nor  involved  hesitation  on  that  of  the  daughter. 

Cornelia  had,  in  the  meantime,  married  her  only  daughter, 
Sempronia,  to  Pubhus  ^mihanus,  who  bore,  at  a  later  period, 
the  title  of  Scipio  Africanus  the  Younger,  obtaining  that  of  Scipio 
by  adoption  into  the  family,  and  that  of  Africanus  by  the  de- 
struction of  Carthage.  Tiberius  served  for  a  time  under  him  in 
Africa,  and  dwelt  beneath  the  same  tent.  He  excelled  all  of  his 
age  in  valor,  at  the  same  time  bearing  himself  with  such 
modesty  that  none  of  his  rivals  could  take  offence.  He  was  be- 
loved by  the  whole  army,  and  universally  regretted  when  he 
quitted  it. 

Scipio's  glory  and  popularity  being  continually  upon  the  in- 
crease, a  portion  of  his  fame  was  reflected  upon  the  family  which 
had  adopted  him.  Cornelia,  the  daughter  of  one  Scipio,  heard 
herself  styled,  in  eulogistic  phrase,  the  mother-in-law  of  another. 
Her  maternal  pride  was  wounded  at  the  reflection  that  the  glory 
of  the  father  had  not  been  perpetuated  in  her  sons,  but  had 
been  diverted  into  another  hne,  and  she  reproached  Tiberius  and 
Caius  that  she  was  called  the  mother-in-law  of  Scipio,  not  the 
mother  of  the  Gracchi.  Whether  to  this  reproach  is  to  be  attri- 
buted the  rashness  and  indiscretion  of  her  sons,  in  their  zeal  to 
achieve  a  hasty  fame,  it  would  be  impossible  now  to  decide  ;  his- 
torians have  generally  chosen  to  trace  a  connection  between  the 
dissatisfaction  of  Cornelia  and  the  turbulent  measures  which  at 
once  marked  her  sons'  accession  to  power  and  precijjitated  their 
faU. 

Upon  the  appointment  of  Tiberius  to  the  office  of  tribune  of 
the  people,  he  embarked  in  an  enterprise  having  for  its  object 
the  restoration  to  the  poor  of  their  share  in  the  public  lands. 
It  had  formerly  been  the  custom  of  the  Romans,  when  they 
acquired  land  by  conquest  from  their  neighbors,  to  add  a  part  of 
it  to  the  national  domains,  and  to  let  the  remainder,  at  low  rates, 
to  necessitous  citizens.      But  this  custom  had  of  late  fallen  into 


CORNELIA.  49 

disuse,  the  rich  having  obtained  a  voice  in  public  affairs  which 
enabled  them  to  exclude  the  poor,  except  upon  the  payment  of 
exorbitant  sums.  The  consequence  was  the  ruin  of  the  agricul- 
tural classes,  and  a  deai'th,  even  in  the  rich  grazing  districts  of 
Tuscany,  of  husbandmen  and  shepherds.  The  land  they  should 
have  tilled  was  occupied  by  foreign  slaves  and  barbarians,  who, 
after  the  natives  were  dispossessed,  cultivated  it  for  the  rich. 
Tiberius,  inflamed  by  the  people's  enthusiasm  in  his  behalf,  by 
the  writings  which  they  posted  on  the  public  monuments,  walls 
and  porticoes,  urging  him  to  action,  drew  up  the  bill  which  was 
to  relieve  them.  It  was  simply  a  revival  of  the  Lex  Licinia. 
which  prohibited  any  one  from  possessing  more  than  five  hun- 
dred acres  of  land.  Its  provisions  were  mild  in  the  extreme ; 
those  who  had  accumulated  more  land  than  was  permitted, 
receiving  indemnity  on  giving  up  their  claims,  instead  of  incur- 
ring punishment  for  their  infringement  of  the  law.  The  people 
were  content  that  no  reprisals  should  be  taken  for  the  past,  if 
they  might  be  protected  against  future  usurpations. 

The  rich,  and  a  large  majority  of  the  senate,  resisted  the  pas- 
sage of  the  law.  They  induced  Tiberius'  colleague  in  the  tri- 
buneship  to  oppose  it.  Tiberius  plead  daily  for  the  poor,  upon 
the  rostrum,  in  persuasive  language.  "  The  wild  beasts  of 
Italy,"  he  said,  "have  their  caves  to  retire  to,  but  the  brave  men 
who  spill  their  blood  in  her  cause  have  nothing  left  but  air 
and  light.  Without  houses,  without  any  settled  habitation,  they 
wander  from  place  to  place  with  their  wives  and  children  ;  and 
their  generals  do  but  mock  them,  when  at  the  head  of  their 
armies,  they  exhort  their  men  to  fight  for  their  sepulchres  and 
domestic  gods  ;  for  among  the  whole  vast  number,  there  is  not, 
perhaps,  a  Roman  who  has  an  altar  that  belonged  to  his  ances- 
tors, or  a  sepulchre  in  which  their  ashes  rest." 

Incensed  by  the  opposition  of  his  colleague  Octavius,  Tibe- 
rius dropped  the  moderate  bill  which  he  had  hitherto  urged,  and 
proposed  another,  more   severe  upon  the   rich,  inasmuch  as  it 

7 


50  CORNELIA. 

required  them  immediately  to  abandon  the  lands  which  they  held 
m  defiance  of  the  unrepealed,  though  unenforced,  Licinian  law. 
He  forbade  all  other  magistrates  to  exercise  their  functions  till  the 
agrarian  laws  were  passed.  He  put  his  own  seal  upon  the  doors 
of  llio  Temple  of  Saturn,  thus  suspending  the  operations  of  the 
pubhc  treasury.  AU  the  departments  of  the  government  were 
at  once  brought  to  a  stand.  The  rich  dressed  in  mourning,  that 
they  might  excite  the  compassion  of  the  public  ;  failing  in  this, 
they  suborned  assassins,  and  plotted  the  murder  of  Tiberius. 

The  latter  now  resolved  to  remove  Octavius  from  the  tri- 
buueship  ;  it  was  evident  the  law  could  not  otherwise  be  passed. 
He  first  addressed  him  in  public,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  and 
conjuring  him  to  satisfy  the  legitimate  demands  of  the  people. 
Octavius  refused  to  comply.  Tiberius  then  said  it  was  evident 
that  one  of  them  must  be  deposed,  and  suggested  that  Octavius 
propose  his — Tiberius' — removal  to  the  thirty-five  tribes  of 
voters  ;  promising  to  retire  from  office,  if  his  fellow-citizens  so 
wUled  it.  Octavius  refused  ;  whereupon  Tiberius  proposed  the 
removal  of  his  colleague.  When  eighteen  of  the  thirty-five 
tribes  had  voted  for  his  expulsion,  Tiberius  ordered  him  to  be 
dragged  from  the  tribunal.  He  filled  the  vacancy  by  appointing 
one  Mutius,  a  man  of  little  note  ;  the  agrarian  law  was  then 
jjassed  ;  three  commissioners  were  selected  to  survey  the  lauds 
in  dispute,  and  to  superintend  their  distribution. 

The  senate  and  the  patricians  were  deeply  exasperated  by 
these  proceedings,  while  the  people  were  no  less  indignant  at  the 
senate's  dissatisfaction.  One  of  the  friends  of  Tiberius  died  sud- 
denly, and  mahgnant  spots  appeared  upon  the  body,  suggesting 
the  presence  of  poison.  This  suspicion  was  confirmed  by  what 
occurred  at  the  burning  of  the  corpse.  It  burst,  and  emitted 
such  a  quantity  of  vapor  and  corruption  that  it  extinguished  the 
fire.  Fresh  wood  was  brought,  but  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
body  was  consumed.  Upon  this,  Tiberius  put  on  mourning,  and 
leading  his  children  to  the  forum,  commended  them  and  their 


COENELIA.  51 

mother  to  the  lorotection  of  the  people — thus  intimating  that  he 
gave  up  his  own  hfe  for  lost. 

At  this  juncture,  Attains,  king  of  Pergamus,  died,  constitut- 
ing the  Roman  people  his  sole  heir.     Tiberius,  seeking  to  avail 
himself  of  this  incident,  proposed  that  all  the  money  found  in 
the  treasury  of  Attains  should  be  distributed  among  the  people, 
to  enable  them  to  purchase  tools  with  which  to  cultivate  the 
lands    lately    assigned   them.      This    still   further    offended   the 
senate,  and  one  of  that  body  accused  Tiberius  of  aspiring  to 
the  title  of  king  ;  and  even  asserted  that  the  messenger  from 
Pergamus  had  brought  him  the  diadem  of  Attalus,  for  his  use 
when  seated  upon  the  throne.     Stung  by  this  unjust  charge, 
Tiberius  resolved  to  lower  still  further  the  pride  and  authority 
of  the  senate  :   he  prepared  and  proposed  several  laws  in  this 
view.      The    people    assembled   in    the    capitol,    and    Tiberius, 
though   much    discouraged   by  a    dream    and   an  omen,  which 
seemed  to  forebode  disaster,  set  forward  to  join  them.     On  his 
arrival,  the  people  expressed  their  joy  in  acclamations,  forming 
a  circle  about  him  to  protect  him  from  rough  treatment.     He 
was  secretly  informed  that  the  senators  and  others  of  the  landed 
interest  had  resolved  upon  his  assassination,  and  for  that  pur- 
pose had  armed  themselves,  their  friends  and  slaves.     Tiberius 
and   his  adherents  tucked  up    their   gowns    and    prepared  for 
combat.     Their  friends    at   a  distance,   not   understanding   the 
nature  of  this  movement,  asked  what  it  meant.     Tiberius  lifted 
his  hands  to  his  head,  to  indicate  that  his  hfe  was  in  danger. 
His  adversaries,  interpreting  this  gesture  to  suit  their  own  pur- 
poses, ran  to  the  senate,  announcing  that  he  had  demanded  the 
crown.     The  senators,  headed  by  one  Nasica,  and  armed  with 
the  clubs  and  bludgeons  which  their  servants  had  brought,  made 
towards  Tiberius,  felling  those  who  stood  in  their  way.     His 
friends  being  either  killed  or  dispersed,  Tiberius  fled,  but  in  his 
flight  stumbled  over  the  prostrate  body  of  one   of  his  party. 
Upon  attempting  to  rise,  he  was  struck  by  Publius  Satureius 


52  CORNELIA. 

with  the  leg  of  a  chair  ;  the  second  and  fatal  blow  was  dealt  by 
Lucius  Rufus,  who  afterwards  pubUcly  boasted  of  the  exploit. 
Three  hundred  persons  perished  in  this  sedition,  the  first  in  which 
Roman  blood  had  been  shed  since  the  expulsion  of  Tarquin. 

This  digression,  involving  the  fate  of  Tiberius,  is  essential 
to  our  story,  showing,  as  it  does,  under  what  circumstances 
Cornelia  was  called  upon  to  part  with  her  tenth  child,  and  the 
eldest  of  those  whom  she  had  styled  her  jewels.  She  claimed 
the  body  of  her  son,  sending  Caius  to  entreat  the  senators  that 
it  might  be  secretly  taken  away  and  buried  in  the  night.  They 
refused  the  request,  ordering  the  corpse  to  be  thi'own  into  the 
Tiber,  with  the  carcasses  of  the  three  hundred  traitors  who  had 
fallen  in  his  cause.  The  mother  bore  the  dispensation  with  a 
magnanimity  which  endeared  her  more  than  ever  to  the  people  ; 
and  upon  the  accession  to  the  tribunate  of  her  last  son,  Caius, 
they  erected  a  statue  to  her,  with  this  inscription  : 

Cornelia,  the  Mother  of  the  Gracchi. 

Among  the  laws  which  Caius,  as  tribune,  caused  to  be  passed 
for  the  benefit  of  the  people,  was  one  regulating  the  markets 
and  the  price  of  breadstuffs  ;  another,  relative  to  a  distribution 
of  public  lands  ;  and  still  another,  depriving  the  senatorial  order 
of  the  judicial  authority,  and  investing  the  equestrian  order  with 
it  exclusively.  As  the  people  empowered  him  to  select  the 
three  hundred  judges  himself,  he  became,  in  a  manner,  possessed 
of  the  sovereign  power.  He  sent  out  colonies,  constructed  roads, 
and  built  public  granaries.  He  went  about,  followed  by  throngs 
of  architects,  artificers,  ambassadors,  magistrates  and  officers. 
The  senators,  who  both  hated  and  feared  him,  could  not  refrain 
from  admiring  his  amazing  industry,  and  the  energy  and  rapid- 
ity with  which  he  effected  his  reforms. 

The  senate  having  decided  upon  the  rel)uilding  of  Carthage, 
which   had   been   lately   destroyed   by   Scipio,  Caius  sailed   to 


CORNELIA.  53 

superintend  the  labor  of  reconstriiction  and  colonization.  Dur- 
ing his  absence,  his  colleague,  Livius  Drusus,  Avho  was  in  league 
with  the  senate  to  weaken  his  hold  upon  the  people,  made  such 
concessions  to  the  multitude,  taking  pains  to  assure  them  that 
they  came  from  the  senate,  that  Caius,  informed  of  the  scheme 
and  of  its  probable  success,  returned  hastily  from  Africa.  But 
the  people,  cloyed  with  indulgence,  welcomed  him  with  dimin- 
ished favor,  and  it  was  obvious  that  his  influence  was  already 
upon  the  decline. 

Lucius  Opimius  was  now  elected  consul,  and  in  his  hatred 
of  Caius,  set  about  repealing  several  of  his  laws  and  annulling 
his  measures  at  Carthage,  hoping  by  these  annoyances  to  incite 
him  to  some  act  of  violence  which  would  justify  a  sentence  of 
banishment.  He  bore  this  treatment  for  a  long  time  with 
patience,  but  at  last,  irritated  beyond  endurance,  he  collected 
his  partisans  and  prepared  for  resistance.  It  is  asserted  that 
Cornelia  encouraged  him  in  this  course,  and  even  enrolled  a 
large  number  of  men  and  sent  them  into  Rome  in  the  disguise 
of  reapers.  Her  letters  which,  as  we  have  said,  were  extant 
two  hundred  years  after  her  death,  are  said  to  have  contained 
enigmatical  allusions  to  this  circumstance.  Both  parties  posted 
themselves  in  the  capitol  on  the  morning  of  the  day  in  which  the 
vote  was  to  be  taken  upon  the  repeal  of  Caius'  laws.  An  acci- 
dental collision  resulted  in  the  death  of  a  lictor,  Quintus  Antyl- 
lius,  whose  insolent  conduct,  however,  at  such  a  period  of  ex- 
citement, furnished  a  sufficient  motive  for  his  destruction.  Caius 
deeply  regretted  the  occurrence,  being  well  aware  that  he  had 
given  his  enemies  the  pretext  they  desired.  Opimius  rejoiced 
at  the  opportunity  and  foresaw  an  easy  triumph.  A  heavy  rain 
kept  the  combatants  for  a  time  apart ;  Caius,  as  he  returned 
home,  stopped  before  his  father's  statue,  giving  vent  to  his 
sorrow  in  sighs  and  tears.  Many  of  the  people,  moved  to  com- 
passion, accompanied  him  to  his  house  and  passed  the  night 
before  his  door,  keeping  watch  and  taking  rest  by  turns. 


54  COENELIA. 

His  partisans  assembled  the  next  morning  upon  the  Aventine 
Hill,  under  the  command  of  one  Fulvius,  a  man  of  factious  life, 
and  for  several  just  reasons,  offensive  to  the  senate.  Caius  was 
present  in  his  toga,  and  unarmed,  except  with  a  small  dagger. 
An  ambassador  was  sent  to  Opimius  in  the  fonmi,  proposing 
terms  of  accommodation.  He  returned  with  the  answer  that 
criminals  could  not  be  allowed  to  treat  by  heralds,  but  should 
surrender  themselves  to  justice  before  they  interceded  for 
mercy.  The  same  herald  was  sent  a  second  time,  but  as  he 
made  proposals  in  all  respects  identical  with  the  first,  he  was 
detained.  Opimius  now  offered  pardon  to  all  who  should  aban- 
don Gracchus  ;  the  unhappy  tribune  was  gradually  deserted  by 
his  forces  till  he  was  left  defenceless  and  at  the  mercy  of  the 
consul.  Opimius  led  his  men  to  the  Aventine,  and  fell  upon  the 
remnant  of  the  disaffected  army  with  ungovernable  fury.  Three 
thousand  Koman  citizens  were  slain  upon  the  spot.  Caius  took 
refuge  with  a  single  servant  in  a  grove  sacred  to  the  Furies  ;  the 
servant,  yielding  to  his  master's  entreaties,  pierced  him  with  his 
sword,  and  then  killed  himself  at  his  side.  The  enemy  came  up, 
and  having  cut  off  the  head  of  Gracchus,  marched  off  with  it  as 
a  trophy.  Opimius  had  offered  a  reward  for  his  head  ;  the  sum 
to  be  paid  was  to  depend  upon  its  weight.  Septimuleius,  one  of 
Caius'  bosom  friends,  having  obtained  possession  of  it  and  car- 
ried it  home,  removed  the  brains,  pouring  melted  lead  into  the 
cavity.  The  consul,  without  testifying  surprise  at  the  unusual 
weight,  a  circumstance  which  was  hardly  to  be  looked  for  even 
in  a  son  of  Cornelia,  paid  the  stipulated  sum  in  gold — seventeen 
pounds  by  the  scales.  With  Caius  Gracchus  perished  the  freedom 
of  Rome.  The  Republic  had  long  been  verging  to  its  fall :  one 
century  more,  and  Augustus  Ca3sar  mounted  the  imperial  throne. 

By  the  death  of  Caius,  Cornelia  became  virtually  childless  ; 
her  only  surviving  daughter,  Sempronia,  being,  to  a  certain 
extent,  alienated  by  the  disapproval,  openly  expressed  by  her 
husband  Africanus,  of  the  measures  which  had   brought   ruin 


CORNELIA.  65 

upon  her  brothers.  She  took  up  her  residence  at  Misenum, 
upon  a  promontory  overlooking  the  lovely  expanse  of  water 
now  known  as  the  bay  of  Naples.  She  made  no  change  in 
her  mode  of  life,  keeping  her  house  always  open,  and  her 
table  always  ready  for  purposes  of  hospitahty.  The  kings  in 
alliance  with  Rome  expressed  their  regard  by  the  frequent 
offer  of  presents.  She  was  surrounded  by  men  of  letters,  in 
whose  society  she  was  glad  to  pass  her  declining  years.  The 
afflictions  and  bereavements  which  she  had  suffered,  so  far 
from  being  forbidden  themes,  were  the  subjects  upon  which 
she  best  loved  to  converse.  She  often  spoke  of  her  father 
Africanus,  delighting  her  listeners  by  descriptions  of  his  private 
life  and  his  domestic  virtues.  It  was  he,  she  said,  who  first 
uttered  the  sentiment  that  he  was  never  so  much  occupied  as 
when  he  had  nothing  to  do,  and  never  in  such  good  company 
as  when  left  to  himself.  She  spoke  of  her  sons  without  a  sigh 
or  a  tear  ;  they  had  been  killed  on  consecrated  ground,  and 
the  spots  upon  which  they  fell  were  monuments  worthy  of 
them.  She  recounted  their  actions  and  their  martyrdom,  as 
if  they  had  been  heroes  in  ancient  story.  Her  magnanimity  and 
resignation  passed  with  many  for  insensibility  and  indifference ; 
they  imagined,  says  Plutarch,  that  age  and  the  magnitude  of 
her  misfortunes-  had  deprived  her  of  understanding.  But,  he 
adds,  those  who  were  of  that  opinion  seem  rather  to  have 
wanted  understanding  themselves  ;  since  they  knew  not  how 
much  a  noble  mind  may,  by  a  liberal  education,  be  enabled  to 
sustain  itself  against  distress. 

Though  two  thousand  years  have  passed  since  the  occurrence 
of  these  events,  the  student  of  classic  history  can  hardly  recur, 
in  thought,  to  this  second  period  of  the  Roman  annals,  without, 
as  it  were,  involuntarily  recaUing  to  mind,  as  types  of  its  virtues 
and  witnesses  to  its  greatness,  the  members  of  the  illustrious 
family  whose  fortunes  we  have  sketched — Scipio,  Cornelia,  and 
the  Gracchi. 


ZE^OBIA. 


Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness,  called  Palmyra  by  the  Greeks  and 
llomans,  originally  founded  by  Solomon  in  a  fertile  oasis  of  the 
Arabian  desert,  and  whose  site  was  surrounded  for  many  days' 
journey  by  barren,  solitary  wilds,  seems  to  have  served,  in  the 
earliest  days  of  commerce,  as  a  commercial  station  between  Tyre 
and  Babylon,  and  by  its  springs  of  fresh  water,  its  groves  of 
palm  trees  and  its  fruitful  soil,  to  have  become  the  halting-place 
of  caravans  and  the  resort  of  traders  and  spice  merchants.  It 
was  destroyed  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  rebuilt  during  a  period 
when  the  historians  and  chroniclers  had  withdrawn  their  atten- 
tion from  this  desert  quarter  of  the  globe.  Pliny  is  the  fii'st 
writer  who  mentions  it  after  its  destruction  by  the  Jews,  and  says 
of  it,  that  "it  is  remarkable  for  situation,  a  rich  soil  and  plea- 
sant streams.  It  is  surrounded  on  aU  sides  by  a  vast  sandy 
desert,  which  totally  separates  it  from  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  it 
has  preserved  its  independence  between  the  two  great  empires 
of  Kome  and  Parthia,  whose  first  care,  when  at  war,  is  to  en- 
gage it  in  their  interest."  The  city  thus  restored,  and  thus 
neutral,  soon  rose  to  opulence,  till,  upon  the  conquest  of  Central 
Asia  by  Trajan,  it  submitted  to  the  Roman  yoke,  and,  though 
a  colony  in  name,  remained  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 

8  " 


58  Z  E  N  0  B  I  A  . 

in  peaceful  possession  of  many  of  the  advantages  it  had  enjoyed 
while  a  republic.  The  few  Palmyrenian  inscriptions  which  are 
now  extant,  seem  to  indicate  that  the  magnificent  temples,  por- 
ticoes, and  colonnades  of  Corinthian  and  Ionic  architecture, 
whose  ruins  form  at  this  day  so  magnificent  and  yet  melan- 
choly a  spectacle,  were  built  during  this  period  of  Roman  sway. 
In  the  year  260  of  our  era,  the  Emperor  Valerian,  dreading 
the  effects  of  Persian  ambition,  crossed  tlie  Euphrates  and 
attacked  Sapor,  the  Persian  king  ;  encountering  an  army  near 
the  waUs  of  Edessa,  he  was  vanquished  and  taken  prisoner.  At 
this  juncture,  Odenatus,  an  opulent  senator  of  Palmyra,  who  had 
so  far  turned  the  waning  fortunes  of  the  Romans  in  the  East  to 
his  own  account,  as  to  have  obtained  the  balance  of  power 
between  Rome  and  Persia,  was  led  by  an  act  of  insolence  on 
the  part  of  Sapor  warmly  to  espouse  the  quarrel  of  the  Romans. 
Upon  the  submission  of  Valerian,  he  had  sent  the  conqueror  a 
present  of  a  well-laden  train  of  camels,  accompanied  by  a 
respectful  though  by  no  means  servile  epistle.  "Who  is  this 
Odenatus  ?"  asked  Sapor,  at  the  same  time  ordering  the  rare 
gifts  with  which  the  camels  were  burdened  to  be  thrown  into  the 
Euphrates^"  who  is  he,  that  he  thus  presumes  to  write  to  his 
lord  ?  If  he  entertains  a  hope  of  mitigating  his  punishment,  let 
him  faU  prostrate  before  the  foot  of  our  throne,  with  his  bauds 
bound  behind  his  back.  Should  he  hesitate,  swift  destruction 
shall  be  poured  on  his  head,  on  his  whole  race,  and  on  his 
country."  Odenatus,  naturally  indignant,  collected  an  army 
from  the  villages  and  tents  of  the  desert,  joined  the  scattered 
remnants  of  the  Roman  legions  in  Syria,  and  so  harassed  the 
retreat  of  the  Persian  host,  that  on  subsequently  joining  battle 
with  Sapor,  he  easily  routed  him,  and  advanced  even  as  far  as 
the  gates  of  Ctesiphon,  his  capital.  Valerian  died  in  chains, 
and  his  son  Gallienus  succeeded  to  the  throne.  He  acknow- 
ledged the  debt  due  to  Odenatus,  and  with  the  consent  of  the 
senate,  and  amid  the  applause  of  the  people,  bestowed  upon 


ZEN  OB  I  A.  59 

him  the  associate  title  of  Augustus.  The  government  of  the 
East  seemed  to  be  thus  tacitly  conferred  upon  Odenatus,  and 
"for  a  while,"  says  Gibbon,  "Palmyra  stood  forth  the  rival  of 
Rome  :  but  the  competition  was  fatal,  and  ages  of  prosperity 
were  sacrificed  to  a  moment  of  glory." 

Previous  to  his  elevation,  Odenatus  had  mai'ried  a  beautiful 
and  accomplished  woman,  Zenobia  Septimia.  Of  this  remarka- 
ble heroine  the  historian  just  quoted  thus  speaks,  upon  the 
authority  of  Trebellius  PoUio,  who  was  contemporary  with  her  : 
"Modern  Europe  has  produced  several  illustrious  women  who 
have  sustained  with  glory  the  weight  of  empire  ;  nor  is  our 
own  age  destitute  of  such  distinguished  characters  ;  but  if  we 
except  the  doubtful  achievements  of  Semiramis,  Zenobia  is,  per- 
haps, the  only  female  whose  superior  genius  broke  through  the 
servile  indolence  imposed  on  her  sex  by  the  climate  and  man- 
ners of  Asia.  She  claimed  her  descent  from  the  Macedonian 
kings  of  Egypt,  equalled  in  beauty  her  ancestor  Cleopatra,  and 
far  surpassed  that  princess  in  chastity  and  valor.  Zenobia  was 
esteemed  the  most  lovely  as  well  as  the  most  heroic  of  her  sex. 
She  was  of  a  dark  complexion — for  in  speaking  of  a  lady  these 
trifles  become  important — her  teeth  were  of  a  pearly  whiteness, 
and  her  large  black  eyes  sparkled  with  uncommon  fire,  tempered 
by  the  most  attractive  sweetness.  Her  voice  was  strong  and 
harmonious.  Her  manly  understanding  was  strengthened  and 
adorned  by  study  ;  she  was  not  ignorant  of  the  Latin  tongue, 
but  possessed  in  equal  perfection  the  Greek,  the  Syriac,  and  the 
Egyptian  languages.  She  had  drawn  up  for  her  own  use  an 
epitome  of  Oriental  history,  and  familiai'ly  compared  the  beauties 
of  Homer  and  Plato,  under  the  tuition  of  the  sublime  Longinus." 

Zenobia  had  accompanied  Odenatus  in  his  expedition  against 
the  Persian  monarch,  and  was  with  him  at  the  gates  of  Ctesi- 
phon.  To  her  fortitude  and  prudence  is  attributed  a  large 
portion  of  this  and  of  his  subsequent  successes.  She  accustomed 
herself  to  fatigue,  usually  rode  on   horseback  clad  in  military 


CO  Z  E  N  OB  I  A. 

attire,  and  sometimes  led  the  troops  on  foot.  She  often  har- 
angued the  army,  her  fine  head  surmounted  by  a  helmet  of  fur,  her 
breast  covered  with  a  coat  of  mail,  and  her  arms  left  bare,  that 
she  might  more  freely  use  them  in  gesture.  At  such  moments, 
her  severe  beauty  reminded  the  spectator  of  the  Minerva  of  the 
Greeks.  In  peace,  she  attended  Odenatus  in  his  favorite  pursuit 
of  hunting,  and  hurled  the  javelin  at  the  lions  and  panthers 
of  the  desert  with  as  much  courage  and  the  same  skill  as  he. 
When  Odenatus  became  the  colleague  of  the  Roman  Augustus, 
Zenobia  suffered  her  ambition  to  outrun  her  judgment,  and  she 
looked  forward  to  the  moment  when,  arrayed  in  the  imperial 
purple,  she  should  dwell  in  the  palace  of  the  Caesars. 

In  the  year  264,  Odenatus  resolved  upon  a  second  expedition 
against  the  Persians  ;  in  this  he  was  so  successful  that  he  sent 
captive  to  Rome  a  large  number  of  generals  and  satraps,  whom 
the  profligate  Gallienus  forced  to  appear  at  the  inglorious 
triumph  which,  at  his  own  instigation,  was  decreed  him  by 
the  senate.  Odenatus  reached  a  second  time  the  walls  of 
Ctesiphon,  but  was  compelled  hurriedly  to  raise  the  siege, 
that  he  might  hasten  to  repel  an  invasion  of  the  Goths,  who 
had  already  covered  the  Black  Sea  with  their  vessels  and  Asia 
Minor  with  their  tents.  After  a  successful  excursion  against 
these  formidable  foes,  he  returned  to  Emesa  in  Syria.  Here, 
in  the  year  267,  he  fell  a  victim  to  assassination,  his  nephew, 
Mceonius,  in  revenge  for  a  slight  punishment  inflicted  upon  him 
by  Odenatus,  having  slain  him  at  a  banquet,  assuming,  imme- 
diately afterwards,  his  title  and  his  authority.  A  son  of 
Odenatus  by  a  previous  marriage,  Ouorodes  or  Herod,  perished 
with  him.  Zenobia  avenged  her  husband's  massacre  by  ordering 
her  soldiers  to  put  the  assassin  Moeonius  to  death — a  command 
which  they  eagerly  obeyed,  as  his  brief  possession  of  the  imperial 
honors  had  disgusted  the  camp  with  him  and  his  pretensions. 

A  trivial  circumstance  and  an  ingenious  train  of  reasoning, 
have  forced  upon  the  minds  of  several  historians  the  suspicion 


ZEN  OB  I  A.  61 

that  Zenobia  was  herself  not  innocent  of  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band. Their  argument  is  as  follows  :  Odenatus  had  a  son  by  a 
previous  marriage,  Herod  ;  Zenobia,  a  widow  at  the  time  of  her 
union  with  Odenatus,  also  had  a  son,  Vabalatus  ;  two  sons, 
Timolaiis  and  Herennianus,  and  several  daughters  were  the  off- 
spring of  both.  Odenatus  manifested  an  extreme  partiality  for 
Herod,  whom  he  intended  for  his  successor,  and  who  is  described 
as  a  luxurious  and  worthless  prince,  and  upon  whose  blind 
indulgence  by  his  father,  Zenobia  is  said  to  have  looked  with 
jealous  eyes.  Her  ambition  for  herself,  and  her  aspirations  for 
her  own  sons  might  naturally  awaken  in  her  mind  the  desire  to 
remove  the  obstacles  in  her  path.  She  might  thus  have  incited 
Mseonius  to  a  sanguinary  retaliation  for  the  slight  offence  he  had 
received,  i-ecommending  him  even  to  assume  the  purple  upon 
Odenatus'  death.  When  she  in  her  turn  avenged  her  husband's 
murder  by  that  of  Mgeonius,  she  in  reality  reaped  the  reward  of 
her  previous  crime,  while  merely  appearing  to  chastise  its  apparent 
perpetrator.  In  repelling  the  charge  involved  in  this  plausible 
hypothesis,  it  will  be  merely  necessary  to  state  that  it  is  based 
upon  conjecture  alone,  no  accusation  or  hint  to  such  an  effect 
being  found  in  any  of  the  writers  contemporary  with  Zenobia. 
It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  nearly  all  the  French  historians  and 
biographers  are  disposed  to  attach  credence  to  the  story  ;  while 
the  English,  with  equal  unanimity,  reject  it.  Gibbon  treats  the 
subject  with  contempt,  omitting  all  mention  of  it  in  the  text, 
and  merely  stating  in  a  note  that  "some  very  unjust  suspicions 
have  been  cast  upon  Zenobia,  as  if  she  was  accessory  to  her 
husband's  death." 

Zenobia  at  once  declared  her  son  Vabalatus  emperor,  and 
reigned  as  regent  in  his  stead.  The  late  friends  and  advisers 
of  Odenatus  contributed  by  their  support  and  their  counsels  to 
consolidate  her  infant  authority.  The  Roman  emperor  Gal- 
lienus  did  not  see  fit  to  recognize  her  as  the  successor  of  Odena- 
tus, nor  to  acknowledge  her  claim  to  a  title  which,  he  maintained, 


62  Z  E  N  0  B  I  A  . 

had  been  awarded  to  her  husband  as  a  distinction  altogether  per- 
sonal, and  in  no  wise  hereditary.  He  even  sent  a  general  against 
her,  with  instructions  to  humble  her  insufferable  pride  ;  but  the 
high-spirited  widow,  taking  the  field  in  person  against  him,  drove 
him  in  confusion  back  into  Europe.  Her  dominions  now  extended 
from  the  Euphrates  to  the  Mediterranean,  and  from  the  Arabian 
deserts  to  the  heart  of  Asia  Minor.  Arabia,  Armenia  and  Persia 
offered  their  friendship  and  solicited  her  alliance.  She  even 
acquired  some  authority,  though  how  much  is  not  exactly  known, 
over  the  fertile  districts  of  Lower  Egypt,  during  the  reign  of 
Flavius  Claudius,  the  successor  of  Gallieuus  ;  thus  recovering 
what  she  claimed  as  her  inheritance  as  the  descendant  of  Cleo- 
patra. 

The  heterogeneous  elements  of  which  Zenobia's  empire  was 
composed,  compelled  her  to  adopt  an  inconstant  and  ambiguous 
policy,  suiting  her  conduct  to  the  time  and  place.  She  sought 
to  rule  the  Greeks  by  love,  the  barbarians  by  fear  :  with  the 
one  she  used  conciliation  ;  with  the  other,  intimidation.  She 
appeared  to  have  no  determinate  character,  but  was  clement  or 
cruel  according  to  the  circumstances  under  which  she  acted. 
She  exacted  from  her  subjects  that  species  of  worship  which  the 
■Persians  paid  to  the  sviccessors  of  Cyrus  ;  but  she  bestowed 
upon  her  sons  a  Latin  education,  and  harangued  her  troops 
after  the  fashion  of  the  Roman  generals.  Though  to  all  outward 
appearance  a  Jewess  in  religion,  and  constantly  erecting  syna- 
gogues for  the  propagation  of  her  faith,  she  never  interfered 
with  the  liberty  of  conscience,  and  afforded  equal  toleration  to 
both  Jew  and  Gentile.  No  Christian  church  was  closed  during 
her  reign.  In  this  career  of  administrative  double-deahng — a 
course  which  often  brought  perplexity  into  her  councils,  and  at 
best  begot  but  a  precarious  security — Zenobia  manifested  judg- 
ment, coolness  and  address.  Her  authority  and  prestige  waned 
from  the  moment  when,  emboldened  by  the  indifference  with 
which  Claudius  permitted  her  to  assume  the  title  of  Queen  of  the 


ZEN  OB  I  A.  63 

Bast,  she  aspired  to  the  creation  of  an  independent  and  even 
rival  monarchy. 

Aurehan,  a  soldier  of  fortune,  and  a  child  of  a  priestess  of 
the  Sun,  whose  martial  tastes  and  prowess  in  the  field  obtained 
for  him  the  title  of  Aurelian  Sword-in-hand,  now,  in  the  year 
270,  succeeded  Claudius  upon  the  throne  of  Rome.  He  found 
the  empire  dismembered,  and  its  remote  provinces  either  in 
open  disaffection  or  reluctant  submission.  Two  women  were  the 
foes  and  rivals  of  Rome.  Gaul,  Spain  and  Britain  acknowledged 
the  sway  of  Victoria,  the  Mother  of  the  Camps  ;  while  Syria, 
Asia  Minor  and  Egypt  had  insensibly  sunk  into  the  lap  of  Zeno- 
bia,  the  Queen  of  the  East.  Aurelian  set  himself  the  task  of 
reuniting  these  scattered  fragments.  He  marched  into  Gaul, 
and  by  the  bloody  battle  of  Chalons,  quenched  the  spirit  of 
resistance  in  the  north.  He  returned  hastily  to  Italy,  recalled 
by  an  invasion  of  the  Yandals.  Partly  by  battle  and  partly  by 
treaty,  he  obtained  the  vantage  ground  of  his  foes,  and  the  bar- 
barian legions  hurriedly  repassed  the  Rhine.  The  north  and 
the  west  having  been  thus  gathered  again  into  the  fold,  Aurelian 
turned  his  arms  against  the  east  and  the  brilliant  Palmyrenian. 

It  was  in  the  second  year  of  his  reign  that  Aurelian  started 
upon  his  march  from  Rome  to  Palmyra.  On  his  way  through 
Illyria,  Dalmatia  and  Thrace,  he  easily  eradicated  the  seeds  of 
insubordination  which  Zenobia  had  planted  in  the  soil ;  he  passed 
through  Byzantium,  into  Bithynia  and  Galatia,  without  encoun- 
tering resistance  ;  but  in  Cappadocia,  the  city  of  Tyana  closed 
its  gates  at  his  approach.  In  his  rage  at  this  interruption, 
Aurelian  swore  that  "  he  would  not  leave  a  dog  alive;"  but 
when,  through  the  perfidy  of  a  Tyanian,  he  obtained  bloodless 
possession  of  the  city,  and  the  soldiers  clamored  for  their  pro- 
mised plunder,  he  replied,  "I  promised  no  such  thing;  I  pro- 
mised you  the  dogs  ;  kill  them  all,  and  leave  not  one  alive  !" 

The  first  resistance  he  encountered  from  Zenobia  awaited 
him  near  Antioch,  upon  the  Syrian  frontier.     Zabdas,  who  had 


64  ZEN  OB  I  A. 

distinguished  himself  in  the  Egyptian  campaign,  was  the  com- 
mander of  the  army,  though  Zenobia  encouraged  her  troops  by 
her  presence.  A  battle  was  fought  without  the  waUs  of  the  city, 
in  which  the  Palmyrenians  were  signally  discomfited.  Zabdas, 
fearing  that  the  people  of  Antioch  would  not  admit  him  if  aware 
of  his  defeat,  arrayed  one  of  his  officers  in  jDurple  garments,  and 
announcing  him  as  the  vanquished  Aurelian,  succeeded  in  pene- 
trating into  the  city.  During  the  night,  he  fled  with  Zenobia 
and  the  remnants  of  the  army  to  Bmesa,  where  the  dauntless 
queen  collected  and  hastily  equipped  a  second  and  a  more  effi- 
cient force.  The  conflict  which  ensued  was  even  more  disastrous 
to  her  arms  than  the  battle  of  Antioch  ;  her  army  was  cut  to 
pieces  ;  and  the  Emesans,  at  heart  preferring  the  Roman  domi- 
nation to  that  of  Palmyra,  opened  their  gates  to  Aurelian. 
Zenobia  withdrew  to  her  capital,  and  unable  to  collect  a  third 
army,  she  shut  herself  up  within  the  walls,  resolved  and  pre- 
pared to  sustain  a  siege,  and  declaring  that  the  last  moment  of 
her  reign  should  be  the  last  of  her  life. 

Aurelian  advanced  over  the  burning  sands  which  lay  between 
Emesa  and  Palmyra,  sorely  harassed  by  hordes  of  Arabs,  whose 
attack  was  invariably  a  surprise,  and  whose  retreat  was  as  regu- 
larly a  marvel.  At  last,  he  arrived  before  Palmyra,  and  his 
legions  commenced  the  siege.  The  resistance  was  heroic,  and 
for  a  long  time  successful.  Aurelian  himself  was  wounded  by 
a  dart,  while  personally  directing  the  combat.  In  a  letter  of 
self-justification,  wi'itten  by  him  at  this  period,  he  says:  "The 
Roman  people  speak  with  contempt  of  the  war  which  I  am 
waging  against  a  woman.  They  are  ignorant  of  the  character 
and  of  the  resources  of  Zenobia.  It  is  impossible  to  enumerate 
her  warlike  preparations  of  stones,  of  arrows,  and  of  every 
species  of  missile  weapons.  Every  part  of  the  walls  is  provided 
with  two  or  three  balistaj,  and  artificial  fires  are  thrown  from 
her  military  engines.  The  fear  of  punishment  has  armed  her 
with  a  desperate  courage.     Yet,  still  I  trust  in  the  protecting 


Z  B  N  0  B  I  A .  65 

deities  of  Rome,  who  have  hitherto  been  favorable  to  all  my 
undertakings."  Seeming,  however,  to  distrust  the  continuance 
of  this  divine  favor,  Aurelian  resolved  to  mingle  negotiation 
with  faith,  and  wrote  to  Zenobia,  offering  her  the  terms  of  an 
advantageous  surrender  :  for  herself,  a  tranquil  life  in  a  resi- 
dence which  the  senate  should  select ;  and  for  her  people,  the 
continued  enjoyment  of  the  rights  they  then -stood  possessed  of. 
Her  reply  is  memorable.     It  was  thus  couched  : 

"Zenobia,  Queen  of  the  East,  to  Aurelian  Augustus  : 

"  Never  was  such  an  unreasonable  demand  proposed,  or  such 
rigorous  terms  offered  by  any  but  yourself!  By  valor  alone,  by 
the  force  of  arms  only,  can  wars  be  brought  to  a  close.  You 
imperiously  command  me  to  surrender,  as  if  you  were  ignorant 
that  Cleopatra  chose  rather  to  die  with  the  title  of  Queen  than 
to  live  in  servitude,  however  tolerable  it  might  be  rendered. 
We  are  awaiting  succor  from  Persia :  the  Saracens  and  the 
Armenians  are  arming  in  our  eause.  The  banditti  of  the  desert 
have  defeated  your  army,  Aurelian !  Judge,  then,  what  our 
strength  will  be  when  our  allies  have  joined  us.  You  will  be 
compelled  to  abate  that  pride  with  which,  as  if  you  were  already 
conqueror,  you  command  me  to  become  your  captive." 

Aurelian  read  this  haughty  dispatch  with  cheeks  burning 
with  indignation.  He  pressed  the  siege  with  redoubled  ardor  : 
he  intercepted  the  scanty  reinforcements  sent  by  the  king  of 
Persia,  and  either  by  battle  or  bribery  prevented  them  from 
proceeding  to  Zenobia's  relief.  He  won  over  the  Saracens  and 
Armenians  to  his  cause.  Probus,  the  general  whom  he  had 
detached  for  the  conquest  of  Egypt,  returned  at  this  juncture, 
and  added  his  troops,  fresh  from  victory  and  flushed  by  success, 
to  Aurelian's  vigilant  camp.  The  Palmyrenians  fought  with 
courage,  and  at  first  to  great  advantage  ;  but  famine  at  length 
invaded  the  beleaguered  city.     Zenobia  resolved  to  proceed  in 

9 


66  ZEN  OBI  A, 

person  to  the  king  of  Persia,  to  implore  his  assistance  in  this 
extremity.  She  mounted  her  fleetest  dromedary,  and  between 
sunrise  and  sunset,  accomplished  the  sixty  miles  which  lay 
between  Palmyra  and  the  Euphrates.  She  had  reached  the 
boat  which  was  to  carry  her  across  the  river,  when  a  detach- 
ment of  Aurelian's  light  cavalry  overtook  her  and  carried  her 
back  a  captive.  She  was  brought  before  Aurelian,  who  sternly 
asked  her  how  she  had  dared  to  rise  against  the  Emperor  of 
Rome.  "Because,"  she  replied,  somewhat  descending  from  the 
lofty  key  in  which  her  late  letter  to  the  emperor  was  indited, 
"because  I  disdained  to  consider  as  Roman  emperors  an  Aureo- 
lus  or  a  Gallienus.  You  alone  I  recognize  as  my  emperor 
and  my  sovereign."  Palmyra  surrendered  upon  the  capture  of 
its  queen,  and  its  citizens  implored  the  clemency  of  the  victor. 
Aurelian  behaved  with  unexpected  magnanimity,  sparing  their 
hves  and  giving  them  their  liberty,  appropriating,  however,  as 
spoils  of  war,  their  gold,  silver  and  precious  stones ;  their  arms, 
horses  and  camels. 

Aurehan  now  retired  to  Emesa,  taking  with  him  Zenobia  and 
her  counsellors.  There  he  instituted  a  tribunal,  over  which  he 
himself  presided,  and  submitted  to  its  deliberation  the  fate  of  the 
queen  and  her  adherents,  Longinus,  Otho,  Seleucus,  Nicanor. 
The  soldiers,  indifl'erent  to  the  subordinates,  clamorously  de- 
manded the  execution  of  the  fair  and  haughty  rebel.  Gibbon, 
quoting  the  historian  Zosimus,  says,  upon  the  much  disputed 
point  of  Zenobia's  behavior  at  this  juncture  :  "  Her  courage  de- 
serted her  in  the  hour  of  trial ;  she  trembled  at  the  angry 
clamors  of  the  soldiers,  forgot  the  generous  despair  of  Cleopatra, 
which  she  had  proposed  as  her  model,  and  ignominiously  pur- 
chased hfe  by  the  sacrifice  of  her  fame  and  her  friends.  It  was 
to  their  counsels,  which  governed  the  weakness  of  her  sex,  that 
she  imputed  the  guilt  of  her  obstinate  resistance  ;  it  was  on  their 
heads  that  she  directed  the  vengeance  of  the  cruel  Aurelian." 
From  other  authorities,  and  especially  from  Vopiscus,  we  gather 


Z  B  N  0  B  I  A .  67 

a  different  statement  of  the  motives  which  led  AureUan  to  spare 
his  captive's  hfe.  If  he  had  ah-eady  been  exposed,  as  the  letter 
we  have  cited  shows,  to  the  sarcasm  of  the  Romans  for  his  pro- 
longed contest  with  a  woman,  the  most  ordinary  prudence  would 
suggest  the  danger  of  giving  his  caustic  subjects  fresh  mat- 
ter for  ridicule  by  putting  a  defenceless  woman  to  death.  He 
might,  as  we  are  assured  he  did,  consider  the  Roman  sceptre 
under  obligations  to  Zenobia  for  her  repulse  and  pursuit  of 
Sapor,  in  the  earlier  days  of  her  reign.  He  might  desire  to  ex- 
hibit his  revolted  but  now  submissive  foe  to  the  senate  and 
the  people.  He  might  wish  to  reserve  her  to  grace  the  triumph 
with  which  he  hoped  to  celebrate  his  conquests.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary to  resort  to  the  hypothesis  that  Zenobia  denounced  her 
counsellors,  in  order  to  justify  and  account  for  their  death  and 
her  own  escape.  Such  would  be  their  lot  by  the  fortunes  of  war ; 
their  counsels  had  undoubtedly  encouraged  their  queen  in  her 
resistance,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  fate  now  summoned  them  to 
pay  the  penalty  and  forfeiture  of  their  acts.  It  is  difficult  to 
suppose  that  Zenobia  could  have  saved  her  own  life,  had  Aure- 
han  resolved  to  take  it,  by  imputing  to  Longinus  and  his  col- 
leagues a  responsibility  of  which  they  were  already  convicted 
by  the  very  position  they  held.  Longinus  suffered  with  the 
stoicism  of  which  he  had  given  so  many  proofs,  "  pitying  his  un- 
happy mistress  and  bestowing  comfort  on  his  afflicted  friends." 
A  number  of  his  associates  perished  with  him,  others  were  re- 
served to  be  thrown  into  the  sea,  as  the  army  recrossed  the 
Thracian  Bosphorus. 

While  Aurehan  was  on  his  homeward  march,  he  learned  that 
Palmyra  had  again  raised  the  standard  of  revolt,  by  putting  to 
the  sword  the  garrison  of  six  hundred  men  in  whose  possession 
he  had  left  it.  He  hastened  back,  and  devoted  the  hapless  city 
to  sack,  fire  and  pillage.  Zenobia's  capital  was  levelled  to  the 
dust ;  the  Arabs  who  now  infest  the  waste  upon  which  it  stood 
have   built   their  mud   and   straw-thatched   hovels  beneath  the 


68  ZENOBIA.  ' 

shadow  of  one  single  edifice — a  temple  of  the  Sun.  The  vil- 
lage of  Tadmor  in  the  Wilderness  numbers  hardly  a  dozen 
families,  who  feed  their  goats  and  cultivate  their  starveling  gar- 
dens among  the  most  majestic  ruins  which  antiquity  has  be- 
queathed us. 

Aurelian's  successes,  which  had  dazzled  the  people,  now  well- 
nigh  blinded  him.  He  had  commenced  his  reign,  three  years 
before,  with  the  modesty  and  simplicity  of  a  private  citizen, 
and  had  enforced  his  domestic  sumptuary  laws  with  such  rigor 
as  to  deny  his  wife  and  daughter  the  indulgence  of  silken  robes. 
Now  that  he  had  restored  peace  and  order  to  the  Roman 
world,  and  had  reunited  the  fragments  of  a  dismembered  empire, 
he  organized  in  his  own  honor  a  triumphal  procession  at  Rome, 
which,  in  respect  of  pomp  and  barbarous  magnificence,  has  never 
to  this  day  been  equalled.  The  cortege  was  opened  by  the  im- 
perial menagerie,  collected  by  Aurelian  from  every  climate  he 
had  visited.  Twenty  elephants  led  the  way,  followed  by  four 
royal  tigers  and  two  hundred  wild  animals  from  Libya  and  Pales- 
tine— Hons,  leopards,  deer,  camels,  dromedaries ;  these  he  distri- 
buted the  next  day  among  his  friends,  that  the  public  treasury 
might  not  be  taxed  for  their  maintenance.  Sixteen  hundred 
gladiators  followed,  prepared  for  the  sanguinary  sports  of  the 
amphitheatre.  Then  came  delegations  of  captives  from  every 
conquered  tribe — Goths,  Vandals,  Syrians,  Saracens,  Franks, 
Gauls,  Egyptians.  Their  hands  were  bound  and  they  marched 
with  downcast  eyes.  The  spoils  of  the  world  came  next,  artfully 
arranged  upon  gilded  wagons  ;  the  jewels  and  scented  woods  of 
India,  the  wealth  and  treasures  of  Persia,  the  ivory  and  gold  of 
Ethiopia,  the  quaint  and  costly  productions  of  China,  the  magni- 
ficent plate  and  sculptures  of  Palmyra — the  rifled  contents  of  the 
palace  of  Zenobia.  Then  followed  the  ambassadors  from 
friendly  powers,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  their  national  costumes  ; 
then  a  band  of  youths  picturesquely  habited,  bearing  upon  silken 
cushions  a  number  of  golden  crowns — the  tribute  of  submissive 


"^  ZENOBIA.  69 

cities.  Ten  women  of  masculine  proportions  and  clad  in  male 
attire,  who  had  been  captured  while  fighting  by  their  husbands' 
sides  on  the  shores  of  the  Danube,  next  attracted  the  gaze  of  the 
admiring  throng.  At  last,  came  the  two  illustrious  captives,  the 
Gallic  emperor,  Tetricus,  and  the  Syrian  queen,  Zenobia.  Both 
proceeded  on  foot,  Zenobia  being  closely  followed  by  the  chariot 
she  had  built  to  grace  her  own  triumph,  in  the  very  streets  where 
she  was  now  led  a  bound  and  sullen  prisoner.  The  barbarous 
monarch  had  caused  her  to  be  decked  with  her  ornaments 
and  jewels  till  she  bent  beneath  tlieir  weight.  The  massive 
chains  and  golden  fetters  which  encircled  her  neck,  were  sup- 
ported by  slaves  who  walked  beside  her.  The  populace  mur- 
mured their  admiration  and  their  pity  as  she  passed.  From 
morn  till  night  she  toiled  beneath  an  Italian  midsummer  sun. 
The  gorgeous  war-chariot  of  Odenatus  followed  Zenobia's  tri- 
umphal car,  together  with  that  of  Sapor  II.,  the  Persian  monarch. 
Aurelian — seated  in  a  chariot  taken  from  a  Gothic  king  and 
drawn  by  stags — the  senate,  the  principal  citizens,  and  the  chiefs 
of  the  army,  closed  this  memorable  procession. 

We  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  here  a  passage  from  an  ima- 
ginative description  of  the  Triumph  of  Aurelian,  in  which  the 
legitimate  hcense  of  the  romancer  is  happily  blended  with 
the  research  of  the  historian :  "  You  can  imagine,  Fausta," 
says  the  writer,  "better  than  I  can  describe  them,  my  sensa- 
tions, when  I  saw  our  beloved  friend,  her  whom  I  had  seen 
treated  never  otherwise  than  as  a  sovereign  queen,  and  with 
all  the  imposing  pomp  of  the  Persian  ceremonial — now  on 
foot  and  exposed  to  the  rude  gaze  of  the  Roman  populace — 
toiling  beneath  the  rays  of  a  hot  sun,  and  the  weight  of  jewels 
such  as  both  for  richness  and  beauty  were  never  before  seen  in 
Rome — and  of  chains  of  gold,  which,  first  passing  around  her 
neck  and  arms,  were  then  borne  up  by  attendant  slaves.  I  could 
have  wept  to  see  her  so — yes,  and  did.  My  impulse  was  to  break 
through  the  crowd  and  support  her  almost  fainting  form — but 


70  Z  E  N  0  B  I  A . 

I  well  knew  that  my  life  would  answer  for  the  rashness  on  the 
spot.  I  could  only,  therefore,  like  the  rest,  wonder  and  gaze. 
And  never  did  she  seem  to  me,  not  even  in  the  midst  of  her  own 
court,  to  blaze  forth  with  such  transcendent  beauty — yet  touched 
with  grief.  Her  look  was  not  that  of  dejection,  of  one  who 
was  broken  and  crushed  by  misfortune — there  was  no  blush  of 
shame.  It  was  rather  one  of  profound,  heart-breaking  melan- 
choly. Her  full  eyes  looked  as  if  privacy  only  were  wanted 
for  them  to  overflow  with  tears.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  on  va- 
cancy, or  else  cast  toward  the  ground.  She  seemed  like  one 
unobservant  of  all  around  her,  and  buried  in  thoughts  to 
which  all  else  were  strangers  and  had  nothing  in  common  with. 
They  were  in  Palmyra,  and  with  her  slaughtered  multitudes. 
Yet,  though  she  wept  not,  others  did  ;  and  we  could  see  all 
along,  wherever  she  moved,  the  Roman  hardness  yielding  to 
pity,  and  melting  away  before  the  all-subduing  presence  of  this 
wonderful  woman.  The  most  touching  phrases  of  compassion 
fell  constantly  upon  my  ear.  And  ever  and  anon,  as  in  the 
road  there  would  happen  some  rough  or  damp  place,  the  kind 
souls  would  throw  down  upon  it  whatever  of  their  garments  they 
could  quickest  divest  themselves  of,  that  those  feet,  little  used  to 
such  encounters,  might  receive  no  harm.  And  as  when  other 
parts  of  the  procession  were  passing  by,  shouts  of  triumph  and 
vulgar  joy  frequently  arose  from  the  motley  crowds,  yet  when 
Zenobia  appeared,  a  death-like  silence  prevailed,  or  it  was 
interrupted  only  by  exclamations  of  admiration  or  pity,  or  of 
indignation  at  Aurelian  for  so  using  her.  But  this  happened 
not  long.  For  when  the  emperor's  pride  had  been  sufficiently 
gratified,  and  just  there  where  he  came  over  against  the  steps 
of  the  Capitol,  he  himself,  crowned  as  he  was  with  the  diadem 
of  universal  empire,  descended  from  his  chariot,  and  unlocking 
the  chains  of  gold  that  bound  the  limbs  of  the  queen,  led  and 
placed  her  in  her  own  chariot — that  chariot  in  which  she  had 
fondly  hoped  herself  to  enter  Rome  in  triumph.      Upon  this. 


ZENOBIA.  71 

the  air  was  rent  with  the  grateful  acclamations  of  the  countless 
multitudes.  The  queen's  countenance  brightened  for  a  moment 
as  if  with  the  expressive  sentiment,  '  The  gods  bless  you !' 
and  was  then  buried  in  the  folds  of  her  robe.  And  when,  after 
the  lapse  of  many  minutes,  it  was  again  raised  and  turned 
towards  the  people,  every  one  might  see  that  tears,  burning 
hot,  had  coursed  her  cheeks,  and  relieved  a  heart  which  else 
might  well  have  burst  with  its  restrained  emotion."  ^ 

The  week  succeeding  the  triumph  was  devoted  to  games, 
theatres,  and  gladiatorial  exhibitions.  Hundreds  of  victims 
perished  in  the  arena  and  in  the  sea-fights  in  Domitian's  pond. 
The  news  soon  reached  the  public  that  Zenobia  was  to  be 
leniently  dealt  with.  Early  in  the  week,  Aurelian  made  her  a 
present  of  his  villa  at  Tibur,  and  sent  his  own  chariot  to  convey 
her  thither.  She  bore  her  fall  with  equanimity,  living  tranquilly 
in  her  forced  retirement,  and  reminding  the  citizens  of  Cornelia, 
after  the  death  of  Tiberius  and  Caius.  She  became,  to  all  intents, 
a  Roman  matron ;  her  two  daughters  married  into  Roman  fami- 
lies, although  a  romantic  embellishment  of  her  story  makes  the 
eldest,  Livia,  Aurelian's  wife  and  Empress  of  Rome,  and  Zenobia 
herself  again  a  mother  by  a  union  with  an  illustrious  Roman 
senator.  From  whichever  source  her  descendants  sprang,  it  is 
certain  that  her  race  was  perpetuated  to  the  fifth  century, 
beyond  which  the  genealogists  have  not  been  able  to  trace  it. 
Her  son  Vabalatus  was  made  king  of  a  small  province  in 
Armenia,  and  his  reign  is  commemorated  by  medals  still  in 
existence.  Timolaiis  and  Herennianus  are  supposed  to  have 
been  dead  before  Aurelian's  conquests. 

The  modern  traveller  can  hardly  visit  Tibur,  now  Tivoli, 
some  twenty  miles  from  Rome,  without  experiencing  the  liveliest 
emotions.  If  a  classical  scholar,  he  will  remember  it  as  the 
retreat  of  Horace  and  as  the  seat  of  the  oracle  of  Faunus  ;  if  an 

'  Ware's  Zenobia. 


72  .  Z  E  N  0  B  I  A  . 

antiquarian,  he  will  visit  with  interest  the  ruins  of  the  villa  of 
Maecenas  and  of  the  Tiburtine  Sibyl ;  if  a  lover  of  the  picturesque 
in  nature,  he  will  gaze  with  rapture  upon  the  charming  Casca- 
telle  ;  upon  the  falls  of  the  headlong  Anio,  and  the  echoing 
grotto  of  the  Syrens  ;  upon  the  dense  foliage  of  the  vine-clasped 
olives  Avhich  clothe  the  precipitous  hill-side ;  and  if  a  reflecting 
student  of  history,  he  will  ponder  upon  the  impressive  lesson  he 
may  read  in  a  spot  pecuharly  connected  with  human  vicissitude 
— the  scene  of  the  crumbling  splendors  of  Adrian,  the  life-long 
captivity  of  Syphax  and  the  golden  exile  of  Zenobia. 


-:~3>. 


BEATRICE 


Beatrice  Portinari,  the  heiress  of  an  iUustrious  house  of 
Florence,  was  born  in  the  year  1266,  and  died  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four.  In  her  short  and  blighted  life,  she  achieved  nothing 
which,  were  we  to  adopt  a  material  standard  of  criticism,  would 
entitle  her  to  a  place  among  queens,  heroines  and  martyrs.  She 
neither  ruled  a  kingdom,  nor  fought  a  battle,  nor  enslaved  a  peo- 
ple. By  her  beauty  she  inspired  a  poet  ;  by  her  purity,  her  spi- 
ritual loveliness,  her  "divine  weakness,"  she  so  wrought  upon 
the  soul  and  so  exalted  the  intellect  of  one  who  loved  her,  that, 
abandoning  a  licentious  and  erratic  career,  and  applying  himself 
to  study  and  contemplation,  he  became  the  Christian  Homer. 
That  the  Divina  Commedia  was  directly  due  to  the  sway  still  ex- 
ercised over  him  by  the  hallowed  memory  of  Beatrice — ^for  she 
was  long  since  dead — we  have  Dante's  own  authority  for  assert- 
ing. She  to  whom  the  world  owes  the  most  magnificent  poem  in 
the  Italian  language,  and  one  of  the  most  subhme  efforts  of  hu- 
man genius,  cannot  be  out  of  place  in  a  gallery  which  claims  to 
recognize  female  influence  as  well  as  female  achievement. 

Of  Dante's  love  for  Beatrice,  the  effects  of  that  love  upon  his 
life  are  sufficient  evidence  ;  we  are  not  told,  and  we  have  no 
means  of  knowing,  whether  she  returned  his  afiection.     He  first 

10  u 


74  BEATRICE. 

saw  her,  when  in  her  ninth  year,  at  a  May-day  festival.  She  at 
any  rate  married  another,  one  Simone  de'  Bardi,  and  whUe  yet  in 
the  pi'ime  of  her  youth,  overcome  with  grief  at  the  death  of  her 
father,  she  died  in  the  year  1290.  Dante  was  married  soon  after- 
wards to  a  lady  named  Gemma  de'  Donati,  with  whom  he  lived 
mihajDpily.  "  Oh  !  inconceivable  torture,"  exclaims  Boccaccio, 
"  to  live,  and  converse,  and  grow  old,  and  die  with  such  a  jealous 
creature !"  Four  years  later,  he  composed  his  Vita  Nuova- — a 
series  of  canzoni  or  sonnets  interspersed  with  prose,  in  which 
he  records  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  his  youth,  and  speaks  of  the 
change  wrought  in  him  by  his  passion,  and  of  the  ' '  new  hfe " 
which  it  induced  him  to  commence.  From  this  we  obtain  a  pic- 
ture of  the  moral  and  spiritual  perfections  of  his  "  gloriosa  e  gen- 
tUhssima  donna." 

"  Whenever  she  appeared  before  my  sight,"  he  says,  "  all  ha- 
tred at  once  departed  from  my  heart,  and  in  its  stead  there  was 
kindled  such  a  flame  of  charity,  that  I  willingly  pardoned  all  who 

had  offended  me This  gentlest  of  ladies  gained  such  favor 

with  every  one,  that  when  she  walked  through  the  streets,  peo- 
ple would  run  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  whence  a  marvelous 
gladness  seized  my  heart ;  and  when  she  drew  near  to  any  one, 
so  much  gentleness  would  enter  into  his  heart  that  he  would  not 
dare  to  lift  up  his  eyes  to  answer  her  greeting  ;  and  of  this  many, 
as  having  witnessed  it,  would  bear  testimony  to  those  that  would 
not  beUeve  it.  But  she,  crowned  and  clothed  in  humihty,  walked 
on,  showing  no  pride  of  what  she  saw  and  heard.  And  many 
would  say,  after  she  had  passed  by,  '  This  is  no  woman,  surely, 
but  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  angels.'  And  others  would  say, 
'  She  is  a  miracle  ;  blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  worketh  so  mar- 
velously !' " 

The  Vita  Nuova  concludes  with  the  following  words  :  "  After 
this,  I  beheld  a  vision,  in  which  I  saw  sights  that  caused  me  to 
resolve  to  cease  writing  of  my  beloved  Beatrice,  until  I  can  cele- 
brate her  more  worthily  ;  which,  that  I  may  do,  I  devote  my 


BEATRICE.  75 

whole  soul  to  study,  as  she  well  knoweth.  In  so  much  that  if  it 
should  be  His  pleasure,  for  whom  all  things  live,  that  my  life 
should  be  spared  for  a  few  years  upon  this  earth,  I  hope  to  sing 
of  her  what  never  yet  was  sung  or  said  of  any  woman.  And  I 
pray  Him  who  is  the  father  of  goodness  to  suffer  my  soul  to  be- 
hold the  bliss  of  its  lady,  who  now,  abiding  in  glory,  looketh  upon 
the  face  of  Him  who  is  blessed  forever,  world  without  end." 

It  is  evident  from  these  lines  that  Dante  had,  at  this  early 
period — he  was  not  yet  thirty  years  of  age — conceived  the  idea 
which  he  afterwards  elaborated  in  the  master-piece  of  his  mature 
life.  "  The  vow  which  the  youth  had  made,"  we  quote  from  the 
Christian  Examiner,  "the  man  performed.  Never,  by  pen  of 
mortal  writer,  has  woman  been  more  glorified  than  Beatrice  was 
by  Dante.  Never  has  love  inspired  its  poet  with  a  purer  and 
loftier  ideal ;  never  has  earthly  beauty  enjoyed  a  more  radiant 
apotheosis.  She  who  had  been,  while  livhig,  the  delight  of  his 
youthful  eyes,  became  when  dead,  the  guiding-star  of  his  spirit, 
the  comforter  and  enlightener  of  his  soul,  the  Jacob's  ladder  of 
his  holiest  aspirations.  All  representations  of  love  and  woman  be- 
fore Dante  appear  earthly  and  sensual  by  the  side  of  his.  Noble 
and  glorious  as  were  some  of  the  creations  of  Greek  and  Roman 
poets,  here  is  something  'above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame.' 
We  may  admire,  we  may  pity,  we  may  love,  Andromache,  Pen- 
elope, Iphigenia,  Electra,  Antigone,  but  here  we  put  off  our  shoes 
from  our  feet,  and  humbly  bow  in  profound  veneration." 

The  Divina  Commedia  is  a  highly  wrought  allegorical  j^oem, 
consisting  of  a  Vision  of  HeU,  Purgatory  and  Paradise.  Through 
these  regions  the  poet  makes  an  imaginary  journey,  conducted  by 
various  guides.  Having  wandered  from  the  direct  path  of  life, 
and  finding  himself  alone  in  a  savage  and  trackless  forest,  he 
is  accosted  by  the  shade  of  Virgil,  who  had  always  been  the 
object  of  his  admiration.  Virgil  explains  to  him  that  he  has 
descended  to  earth,  at  the  request  of  Beatrice,  to  guide  him  upon 
his  way.     Thus  reassured,  the  Tuscan  poet  follows  his  conductor 


76  BEATRICE. 

across  the  Acheron  into  the  realms  of  Minos.  He  supposes,  in 
the  poem,  that  "when  Lucifer  fell  from  heaven,  he  struck  the 
earth  with  such  violence  as  to  make  a  vast  chasm,  tunnel-shaped, 
quite  down  to  the  earth's  centre,  where  he  lies  frozen  in  eternal 
ice.  Down  the  sloping  sides  of  this  great  tunnel  sucks  the 
groaning  maelstrom  of  Dante's  Inferno  ;  through  whose  various 
eddies  and  whirlpools  the  shuddering  poet  is  hurried  forward, 
amid  the  shrieking  shipwrecked  souls."  Virgil  and  Dante  pass 
successively  through  the  nine  circles  of  Hell — the  most  appalling 
series  of  pictures  ever  conceived  by  the  imagination  of  man. 

In  the  first,  called  Limbo,  are  the  souls  of  the  unbaptized 
and  of  the  heathen  philosophers  ;  no  groans  are  heard,  but  the 
air  is  tremulous  with  sighs.  In  the  second,  the  spirits  of  the 
incontinent  are  tossed  to  and  fro  in  a  whirlwind.  In  the  third, 
the  souls  of  gluttons  lay  howhug  under  a  ceaseless  shower  of  hail- 
stones and  black  rain.  In  the  fourth,  the  prodigal  and  the 
avaricious  wage  an  eternal  warfare  by  rolling  huge  weights 
against  each  other.  In  the  fifth — the  Stygian  pool — the  irascible 
are  seen  smiting  each  other,  breathing  beneath  the  filthy  water 
and  covering  its  surface  with  bubbles.  In  the  sixth — the  flaming 
city  of  Dis,  with  walls  of  heated  iron — the  souls  of  heretics  lie 
buried  in  fiery  graves.  In  the  seventh  are  the  ^dolent,  the 
unjust,  and  suicides,  who  are  plunged  into  rivers  of  blood, 
or  walk  upon  a  sandy  plain  beneath  a  shower  of  fire.  In  the 
eighth,  or  gulf  of  Malabolge,  are  seducers,  scourged  by  demons ; 
flatterers,  wallowing  in  filth  ;  fortune-tellers,  with  their  heads 
turned  backwards ;  peculators,  seething  in  a  lake  of  boiling 
pitch  ;  hypocrites,  wearing  gUded  hoods  of  lead  ;  and  alchemists 
and  forgers  rotting  with  disease.  In  the  ninth  circle  are  the 
souls  of  traitors,  and  Lucifer  himself,  imbedded  in  the  frozen 
lake.  AH  these  horrible  fancies  are  described  with  such  awful 
minuteness,  that  we  can  hardly  wonder  at  the  belief  which  for 
a  time  prevailed  among  his  countrymen,  that  Dante  did  actually 
descend  into  hell,  and  that  the  sallowness  of  his  complexion  and 


BEATRICE.  77 

the  crispness  of  his  beard  were  occasioned  by  his  having  ventured 
too  near  the  lire. 

Lucifer,  in  his  fall,  had  not  only  hollowed  out  the  gulf  of  Hell, 
but  had  thrown  up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  earth,  a  mountain, 
or  cone,  called  Purgatory.  In  the  sides  of  this  cone  were  cut 
seven  broad  terraces,  and  upon  them  the  seven  mortal  sins  were 
purged  away.  Here  despair  gives  way  to  hope,  and  as  the  poets 
clambered  from  one  terrace  to  the  other,  ushered  onward  by 
angels,  Dante  beheld  the  milder,  and  yet  agonizing  expiation  of 
those  who  had  led  lives  of  sin.  He  saw  the  proud,  tottering 
under  huge  weights  of  stone  ;  the  envious,  with  their  eyelids 
sewed  together  with  iron  wire,  and  having  piteous  upturned 
faces,  like  blind  beggars  at  the  gates  of  churches ;  the  irascible, 
enveloped  in  suffocating  smoke  ;  the  avaricious,  burying  their 
faces  in  the  dust ;  gluttons  emaciated  by  famine  ;  and  the  incon- 
tinent undergoing  purgation  by  fire. 

Beyond,  and  above  the  seventh  and  last  terrace,  upon  the 
summit  of  the  mountain,  stood  the  Terrestrial  Paradise.  Here, 
by  the  side  of  hmpid  waters,  and  under  the  shadow  of  eternal 
trees,  the  poet  met  Beatrice.  Her  approach  is  announced  with 
all  the  splendid  imagery  of  which  his  pen  was  capable.  A 
soft  melody  breathes  through  the  air,  and  the  forest  becomes 
brilliantly  illuminated.  A  sacred  procession  passes  by ;  hymns, 
paraphrases  for  the  most  part  from  the  psalms  of  David,  are 
sung  in  his  ravished  ear  ;  a  mystic  chariot,  surrounded  by  saints 
and  angels,  who  strew  the  path  with  lilies,  and  containing  the 
cherished  object  of  his  undying  love,  advances.  Dante  turns 
to  Virgil  to  express  his  rapture,  but  he  finds  himself  alone,  and 
weeps.     Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  hears  the  voice  of  Beatrice  : 

"  Dante  !  weep  not  that  Virgil  leaves  thee ;  nay 
Weep  thou  not  yet ;  behooves  thee  feel  the  edge 
Of  other  sword,  and  thou  shalt  weep  for  that." 

Beatrice  becomes  Dante's  guide  through  the  ten  heavens  or 


78  BEATRICE. 

spheres  of  Paradise.  She  fixes  her  gaze  upon  the  sun,  till  Dante 
is  dazzled  by  his  reflected  light.  They  hear  the  harmony  of 
the  spheres.  In  the  first  sphere,  or  that  of  the  Moon,  the  poet 
sees  the  happy  souls  of  those  who,  having  taken  monastic  vows 
on  earth,  were  forced  to  violate  them  ;  in  the  second.  Mercury, 
dwell  the  spirits  of  those  whom  a  thirst  for  glory  moved  to  noble 
enterprises  ;  in  the  third,  Venus,  those  who  on  earth  were  cele- 
brated for  holy  and  legitimate  love ;  in  the  fourth,  the  Sun,  dwell 
the  doctors  and  fathers  of  the  church  ;  the  fifth.  Mars,  is  the 
home  of  the  heroic  souls  of  the  crusaders,  who  died  fighting  for 
the  cross  ;  the  sixth,  Jupiter,  is  the  abode  of  upright  princes, 
who  are  arranged  in  the  form  of  an  eagle,  in  the  centre  of  whose 
flaming  eye  sits  King  David ;  in  the  seventh,  Saturn,  to  which  the 
poet  and  Beatrice  ascend  upon  a  ladder  spangled  with  stars,  dwell 
those  who  have  passed  their  fives  in  holy  contemplation.  Dante 
here  notices  that  the  beauty  of  Beatrice  is  constantly  becoming- 
more  radiant,  and  that  it  is  as  difficult  to  gaze  upon  her  as  upon 
the  spheres  themselves.  The  eighth  heaven  is  that  of  the  fixed 
stars ;  they  enter  the  constellation  Gemini,  and  the  poet  turns  his 
backward  glance  upon  earth,  a  remote  speck  in  the  universe.  In 
this  heaven  dwell  the  souls  of  Adam  and  the  saints.  Here  the 
music  is  so  sweet  that,  compared  to  it,  Dante  describes  the  most 
delightful  earthly  music  as  "a  rent  cloud,  when  it  grates  the 
thunder." 

In  the  ninth  circle,  all  is  light,  and  love,  and  joy.  "A  river 
of  light  flows  through  the  centre,  bordered  with  flowers  of 
incredible  beauty.  From  the  river  issue  brilliant  sparkles  which 
fly  amongst  the  flowers,  where  they  seem  Uke  rubies  chased  in 
gold.  By  the  desire  of  Beatrice,  Dante  drinks  of  this  water,  and 
his  eyes  being  opened,  he  sees  that  the  sparks  are  angels,  and 
the  flowers  mortals.  He  beholds,  in  a  vast  circle  of  fight,  more 
than  a  million  of  thrones,  disposed  like  the  leaves  of  a  rose, 
where  sit  angels  and  the  souls  of  just  men  made  perfect.  An 
innumerable  host  of  celestial  beings,  with  faces  of  flame  and 


BEATRICE.  79 

wings  of  gold,  float  over  the  eternal  city.  Here  Beatrice  leaves 
him  and  resumes  her  throne  of  Hght  in  the  third  circle  from  the 
highest." 

The  tenth  and  last  heaven  is  the  empyrean.  Here  the  ven- 
erable St.  Bernard  becomes  Dante's  guide.  Assisted  by  his 
prayers  to  the  Virgin  Mary  that  the  poet  may  be  enabled  to 
contemplate,  for  an  instant,  the  dazzling  glory  of  the  Divine 
Majesty,  he  is  vouchsafed  one  fearful  gaze  upon  the  Great 
Mystery.  Declaring  his  inability  to  describe  what  he  has  beheld, 
Dante  lays  down  his  pen  and  brings  his  poem  to  a  close.  He 
returns  to  earth,  to  his  exile  and  his  poverty,  leaving  his  saint 
behind  him, 

"  Vested  in  colors  of  the  living  flame." 

They  alone  who  can  read  Dante  in  the  original,  and  can 
dispense  with  a  paraphrase — for  translation  is  impossible — can 
comprehend  to  what  a  degree  the  poet  was  wrought  upon  by  the 
deathless  memory  of  her  who  had  inspired  him.  Never,  indeed, 
was  such  a  tribute  paid  by  man  to  woman.  He  has  bound  her 
brow  with  laurel,  and  has  made  her  name  as  immortal  as  his  own. 


JOAN    DARC 


Before  entering  upon  the  history  of  the  transcendent  hero- 
ine whose  name,  restored  to  its  correct  orthography,  we  have 
given  above,  it  is  proper  that  we  should  state  the  reasons  which 
have  led  us  to  take  a  step  which,  without  such  explanation, 
might  seem  unauthorized  and  gratuitous. 

The  name  "  Joan  of  Arc"  is  the  old  English  equivalent  for 
Jeanne  or  Jehanne  d'Arc  :  but  d'Arc  is,  in  the  original  French, 
an  erroneous  spelling  of  the  proper  name,  Dare.  However  the 
mistake  may  have  arisen — for  it  has  never  been  traced  to  its 
source — it  is  certain  that  Joan  could  only  have  a  right  to  the 
nobiliary  particle  de,  either  in  consequence  of  the  possession  or 
the  creation  of  a  title  in  her  family,  or  as  a  distinctive  appellation, 
designating  her  as  inhabiting  the  town,  village,  or  estate  of  Arc. 
Now,  Joan's  father  was  a  humble  ploughman,  and  no  patrician 
blood  ran  in  his  veins ;  he  possessed  no  title  ;  and,  moreover, 
his  name  is  well  known  to  have  been  Dare,  without  the  apos- 
trophe. There  is  not,  and  never  has  been,  in  Lorraine,  either 
town  or  estate  of  Arc,  to  which  Joan  could  have  owed  the  dis- 
tinction which  tradition  gives  her.  Her  name,  therefore,  was 
Jeanne  Dare,  and  in  English  Jane  or  Joan  Dare.  History  seems 
disposed  to  perpetuate  the  error,  in  the  two  languages,  though 

11  81 


82  J  0  A  N    D  AliC. 

modern  French  authors  take  care,  while  falling  in  with  the  pre- 
cedent thus  sanctified  by  time,  to  record  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  distortion  has  taken  place.  The  error  is  in 
French  less  worth  correcting,  as  the  omission  of  the  apostrophe 
alters  neither  the  sound  nor  the  sense,  in  the  spoken  word  ;  but 
in  English  it  is  a  very  grievous  mutilation  of  a  name  which  man- 
kind should  have  been  anxious  to  preserve  intact.  Had  there 
been  a  "  Joan  of  Arc,"  she  would  have  been  found  in  a  baron's 
palace,  not  beneath  a  peasant's  thatch.  We  may  mention  that 
the  new  "  Biographic  UniverseUe,"  now  in  course  of  publication 
in  Paris,  by  Didot  Freres,  gives  the  name  as  Dare,  and  repudi- 
ates the  usual  and  traditional  spelling  as  at  once  corrupt  and 
absurd. 

It  was  in  the  village  of  Domr^my,  between  the  hills  of  Lor- 
raine and  the  plains  of  Champagne,  and  not  far  from  the  town  of 
Vaucouleurs,  that  Joan  was  born,  probably  in  the  year  1410. 
She  was  the  third  child  of  Jacques  Dare,  a  laboring  peasant,  and 
of  his  wife  Isabelle.  The  latter  is  usually  designated  in  history 
as  Isabelle  Rom6e,  but  this  surname  was  merely  an  epithet,  sig- 
nifying that  she,  or  some  one  of  her  immediate  family,  had  made 
a  pilgrimage  to  Rome.  Joan's  three  brothers  were  named 
Jacquemin,  Jacques,  and  Pierre.  She  herself,  called  Jeanne  by 
one  of  her  stepmothers,  was  always  called  Sibylle  by  the  other. 
She  had  one  sister,  whose  name  has  not  been  preserved.  Her 
father  and  brothers  labored  in  the  fields  or  tended  their  flocks 
upon  the  hill-sides.  Joan  stayed  at  home  with  her  mother  and 
learned  to  sew  and  spin.  She  was  never  taught  either  to 
read  or  write.  She  went  often  to  confession,  and  undertook,  in 
humble  imitation  of  the  pilgrims  whose  devotion  she  admired, 
excursions  to  neighboring  shrines  and  sanctuaries.  She  blushed 
when  told  that  she  was  too  often  seen  at  prayer.  She  gave 
alms  in  proportion  to  her  means,  and  tended  the  sick  in  the  cot- 
tages of  the  village. 

As  she  grew  older,  the  first  manifestations  of  her  singular 


JOANDARC.  83 

character  were  noticed  with  wonder  by  her  parents.  She  with- 
drew from  all  society  and  sat  contemplative  apart,  where  she 
could  gaze  at  the  sky,  the  church  spire,  and  the  mountains. 
She  betrayed  the  depth  of  her  feelings  less  by  abstraction  from 
passing  events  than  by  the  intensity  with  which  she  applied  her- 
self to  the  few  occupations  which  pleased  her.  She  listened 
with  rapture  to  sounds  rendered  soft  by  distance,  and  to  the 
melody  of  bells ;  she  would  spin  heavy  knots  of  worsted  with 
which  to  bribe  the  sexton  to  prolong  on  summer  evenings  the 
harmonious  chimes  of  the  Angelus.  She  felt  for  the  sufferings 
of  animals,  and  was  the  good  genius  of  worried  cats  and  starving 
birds.  Sexual  love  never  touched  her  heart,  and  though  often 
sought  in  marriage,  she  preferred  the  freedom  of  a  single  life. 
One  of  her  lovers,  unscrupulous  in  his  passion,  made  affidavit  be- 
fore a  court  of  justice  that  she  had  promised  him  her  hand,  and 
asked  that  she  might  be  compelled  to  execute  her  engagement. 
Joan  appeared  before  the  court  at  Toul  and  spurned  the  ca- 
lumny under  oath.  She  was  reserved  for  another  destiny  than 
that  of  a  Domremy  peasant's  wife. 

Joan  became  at  an  early  age  strongly  imbued  with  the  local 
superstitions  of  the  village.  The  deep  forests  of  the  Vosges 
touched  the  borders  of  Domremy  ;  and  beneath  a  hoary  beech 
called  the  Fairies'  Tree  was  a  fountain  whose  waters  dispelled 
disease.  Joan,  with  the  children  of  the  neighbors,  danced  round 
the  tree,  suspended  garlands  from  its  branches,  and  played  with 
the  rippling  water-source.  She  gathered  May-flowers  upon  its 
borders,  and  wove  them  into  wreaths  for  the  statue  of  Notre 
Dame.  Her  foster-sister  even  saw  the  fairies  as  they  gambolled 
about  their  tree  ;  but  Joan,  even  during  her  moments  of  ecstasy 
and  inspiration,  never  allowed  her  fancy  to  take  this  form.  The 
fairies  were,  nevertheless,  believed  to  haunt  the  forest ;  and  the 
old  guy6  of  Domremy,  sharing  the  hostility  of  the  church  to  the 
divinities  of  local  tradition,  went  once  a  year  to  the  fountain, 
and  with  mass  and  holy  water  exorcised  the  hamadryads. 


84  JOANDARC. 

Joan  lived  among  these  legends,  in  the  midst  of  a  super- 
stitious people,  and  in  the  heart  of  a  romantic  country.  A  pre- 
diction made  by  the  Enchanter  Merlin,  so  famous  in  Ariosto — 
one  portion  of  which  had  already  been  accomplished — violently 
agitated  the  little  community.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  France 
would,  ere  long,  be  lost  by  an  unnatural  woman,  and  subse- 
quently saved  by  a  young  and  innocent  maiden.  The  present 
misfortunes  of  France,  of  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak 
at  length,  were,  it  was  thought  by  those  interested  in  the  pro- 
phecy, directly  traceable  to  the  infamous  conduct  of  Isabeau  de 
Bavaria,  the  wife  of  King  Charles  VI.,  whose  son,  the  daupliin, 
afterwards  Charles  VII.,  was  affected  almost  to  imbecility  by  the 
apprehension  that  he  was  not  the  king's  son,  and  consequently 
unfit  to  reign.  The  country  was  thus  "lost  by  an  unnatural 
woman,"  and  the  first  half  of  the  prediction  had  come  to  pass. 
The  remainder  was  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  and  among  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  Vosges,  none  was  more  rife  than  that  of  the  salvation 
of  France  by  an  innocent  maiden.  Merlin's  prophecy  had  been 
adapted  by  popular  credulity  or  local  prejudice  to  the  circum- 
stances of  each  province,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Lorraine  were 
taught  to  believe  that  the  heroine  would  arise  in  Lorraine,  as, 
doubtless,  in  Brittany  and  Langucdoc  she  was  expected  to  own 
a  more  western  or  southern  allegiance. 

It  was,  indeed,  time  that  the  Pucelle  of  the  prophecy  should 
appear,  and  that  the  kingdom  should  be  saved.  Charles  VI. 
was  crazy,  having  lost  his  reason  in  an  orgy  ;  his  brother  and 
his  queen  Isabeau  reigned  in  his  stead.  The  rival  houses  of 
Orleans  and  Burgundy  contended  for  the  throne,  carrying  on 
their  wars  more  by  murder  and  massacre  than  by  regular  battles. 
An  English  army  several  times  entered  the  country  at  the  call 
of  one  or  the  other  of  the  conflicting  parties,  and  under  the 
ruthless  heel  of  the  invaders  France  suffered  deeper  injuries 
than  from  her  own  two  quarreling  factions  combined.  At  last, 
the  King  of  England  died  at  Vincennes,  and  the  King  of  France 


JOANDARC.  85 

at  Paris.  The  Duke  of  Bedford  assumed  the  regency  in  the 
name  of  England  ;  while  the  dauphin  Charles,  wandering  with 
his  handful  of  partisans  from  province  to  province,  saw  his  un- 
happy country  desolated  by  civil  war,  the  prey  to  anarchy  and  the 
spoil  of  mercenary  strangers.  He  saw  cities  burned  and  pillaged, 
and  vineyards  and  harvests  devastated.  Two  women,  both  des- 
tined to  immortality,  took  deeply  to  heart  the  afflictions  of  the 
prince — Agnes  Sorel  and  Joan  Dare.  Agnes  Sorel,  his  passion- 
ately loved  mistress,  blushed  for  herself  and  for  him  at  his 
inglorious  life,  and  by  a  happy  speech  stimulated  him  to  action. 
A  fortune-teller  predicted  to  her  that  she  would  soon  marry  the 
greatest  king  in  Europe.  Turning  to  Charles,  she  said,  "Sire, 
permit  me  to  leave  the  country,  that  I  may  marry  the  King  of 
England  ;  for  it  is  plain  enough  that  if  you  continue  thus,  you 
will  not  long  be  King  of  France,  and  cannot,  therefore,  be  the 
object  of  this  j^i'ediction."  The  throneless  king  shed  a  few  bitter 
tears  and  then  renewed  the  campaign.  He  was  soon  reduced  to 
extremity,  and  his  stronghold,  Orleans,  was  closely  besieged. 
Agnes  Sorel  now  gave  way  to  Joan  Dare. 

During  the  progress  of  these  events,  Domremy,  though 
remote,  was  deeply  interested  in  the  issue  of  the  struggle.  It 
had  pronounced  itself  strongly  in  favor  of  the  king,  and  was 
strengthened  in  its  Armagnac  fidelity  by  the  rivalry  of  the 
neighboring  village  of  Marcey,  which  had  adopted  Burgundian 
colors.  Whenever  the  inhabitants  met,  it  was  to  exchange 
blows  ;  the  children  even  caught  the  infection,  and  the  brothers 
of  Joan  often  returned  home  bloody  and  bruised  from  encounters 
with  enemies  of  their  own  age.  More  than  once  Joan  gave  up 
her  bed  to  a  wounded  Armagnac,  a  fugitive  from  the  victorious 
Burgundians.  The  pilgi-ims,  beggars  and  monks  who  wandered 
from  place  to  place,  and  stopped  at  Domremy  on  their  way, 
terrified  the  listening  villagei-s  with  tales  of  war,  pillage  and 
devastation.  At  length,  a  horde  of  bandits  passed  through 
the  peaceful  hamlet,  driving  the  inhabitants  from  their  homes  ; 


86  JOANDARC. 

Joan,  her  parents  and  brothers  fled  in  dismay  ;  they  returned 
to  find  the  fields  laid  waste  and  the  church  in  ashes.  Thus  Joan 
became  familiar  with  the  horrors  of  war,  and  while  her  heart 
melted  with  pity  for  her  king  and  country,  her  mind  dwelt 
unceasingly  upon  the  prediction  of  the  enchanter,  that  France 
should  be  saved  by  a  virgin. 

One  day,  a  fast-day,  and  at  noon,  Joan,  who  was  then  in  her 
thirteenth  year,  saw  between  herself  and  the  chm-ch  a  dazzling 
light,  and  heard  a  soft  voice  whisper  in  her  ear:  "Joan,  be 
a  good  girl,  and  go  often  to  church."  She  was  alarmed,  and  ran 
into  the  house.  Soon  after,  she  saw  another  and  a  brighter  light, 
iu  the  midst  of  which  were  the  radiant  forms  and  outspread 
wings  of  angels.  She  recognized  St.  Michael,  the  stern  arch- 
angel of  judgment  and  battle.  The  figure  said  to  her:  "Joan, 
go  to  the  assistance  of  the  King  of  France,  and  restore  to  him  his 
kingdom."  She  trembhngly  replied,  "  Messire,  I  am  but  a  poor 
village  girl ;  I  cannot  ride  on  hoi-seback  nor  lead  men  to  battle." 
The  voice  retiu-ned :  "Go  to  M.  de  Baudricourt,  captain  at 
Vaucouleurs  ;  he  will  take  you  to  the  king.  Saint  Catherine 
and  Saint  Margaret  wiU  aid  you."  Joan  burst  into  tears,  and 
recorded  a  vow  to  heaven  of  eternal  chastity.  Saint  Michael 
came  again,  armed  with  his  lance  and  clad  in  glory  ;  Joan's 
pillow  by  night  and  her  spinning  wheel  by  day  were  surrounded 
l>y  the  white  figures  of  saints,  beseeching  her  in  winning  accents 
to  hasten  to  the  rehef  of  France.  Saint  Catherine  promised 
assistance  from  the  clouds  afar  ofi".  In  the  beatific  society  of  her 
visions  Joan  passed  five  years,  sedulously  keeping  her  own 
counsel ;  she  who  had  known  no  other  adviser  than  her  poor, 
ignorant  mother,  now  listened  in  rapture  to  the  persuasions  of 
the  majestic  cohort  of  heaven. 

In  her  eighteenth  year,  Joan  confessed  all  to  her  mother. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  her  father  and  brothers,  the  village,  the 
whole  canton,  were  soon  informed  of  her  supernatural  visitations. 
She  became  a  subject  of  marvel  to  the  ignorant,  and  of  study  to 


JOANDARC.  87 

the  reflecting.  Between  the  paternal  authority  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  celestial  bidding  on  the  other,  poor  Joan's  mind  was 
harassed  and  torn.  St.  Michael  beckoned  her  to  the  wars ;  her 
father  threatened  her  with  death  if  she  dared  to  stir  from  home. 
The  honest  peasant  saw  no  good  in  such  dangerous  favors  of 
heaven,  and  these  visits  from  the  angels  furnished  the  neighbors 
with  a  fruitful  topic  of  scandal.  Besides,  in  those  days  of  cre- 
dulity, it  was  easy  to  obtain  the  name  of  sorceress,  and  Jacques 
Dare  had  no  desire  to  see  his  daughter  exorcised  at  the  stake. 
He  bade  her  dismiss  her  nightly  company,  and  prepare  to  marry 
a  peasant  of  the  hamlet.  She  sought  and  obtained  permission  to 
spend  some  time  with  her  uncle,  Durand  Laxart  by  name,  of 
whom,  by  dint  of  persuasion,  she  made  her  earliest  convert  and 
her  first  accomplice.  With  him  she  went  to  Vaucouleurs,  and 
lodged  with  the  wife  of  a  wagoner,  a  cousin  of  her  mother. 
Coarsely  dressed  in  red,  her  usual  attire,  she  obtained  access  to 
Baudricourt.  Captivated  by  her  beauty  and  modest  earnestness, 
the  captain  listened  to  her  appeal,  which  she  delivered  in  a  tone 
which  left  no  doubt  of  her  complete  sincerity.  "I  come  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord,  King  of  Heaven,  to  desire  you  to  instruct  the 
dauphin  to  remain  where  he  is,  and  not  to  join  battle  with  the 
enemy  at  present,  for  God  will  send  him  succor  at  the  feast  of 
Mid-Lent.  The  kingdom  does  not  belong  to  the  dauphin,  but 
to  the  Lord  ;  it  shall  be  his,  nevertheless,  as  a  sacred  trust.  He 
shall  be  king  in  spite  of  his  enemies,  and  I  will  bring  him  to 
Rheims  to  be  crowned  and  consecrated."  The  captain,  amazed 
at  this  speech,  asked  time  for  reflection,  dismissed  Joan  and 
sent  for  the  priest.  He  strongly  suspected  witchcraft,  and  his 
suspicions  were  eagerly  shared  by  the  alarmed  churchman. 
They  went  together  to  the  wagoner's  hovel,  the  priest  arrayed 
in  his  robes  of  office,  as  a  defence  against  the  snares  of  the  evil 
one.  He  summoned  Joan  to  his  jDresence,  and  went  through 
the  ceremony  of  purification,  ordering  her  to  retire  if  she  was  in 
league  with  the  spirit  of  darkness.     She  bore  the  profane  ordeal 


88  JOANDARO. 

meekly ;  and  the  priest  and  the  captain  withdrew,  edified  but 
undecided. 

The  humble  lodgings  of  Joan  were  now  invaded  by  throngs 
of  the  curious,  of  all  ranks  and  ages.  She  won  many  and 
interested  all.  She  complained  of  the  indifference  of  Baudri- 
court,  saying  to  those  who  surrounded  her:  "I  must  be  with 
the  king  before  Mid-Lent,  even  though  I  wear  my  legs  to  the 
knees  in  reaching  him.  There  is  no  one  living,  neither  king  nor 
duke,  nor  even  the  king  of  Scotland's  daughter,  that  can  give 
him  back  his  kingdom  ;  there  is  no  succor  possible  but  myself, 
though  I  would  rather  have  stayed  at  home  to  spin  with  my 
poor  mother,  for  this  is  not  my  path  ;  but  I  must  do  the  bidding 
of  the  Lord  my  master."  Two  chevaliers,  convinced  of  her 
sincerity,  promised  that  she  should  speak  with  the  king,  and 
placed  her  hand  in  theirs,  in  token  of  the  fideHty  with  which 
they  would  execute  their  engagement. 

The  king  was  soon  informed  of  these  occurrences,  and  after 
consultation  with  his  mother-in-law,  Yolande  of  Sicily,  and  with 
his  heutenant,  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  sent  a  summons  to  Joan  to 
appear  before  him  at  Chinon.  Though  he  regarded  her  as  a 
mere  enthusiast  and  fanatic,  who  had  taken  her  own  insanity 
for  inspiration,  he  nevertheless  felt  what  a  powerful  influence  he 
might  wield  over  a  credulous  camp  and  a  superstitious  people, 
by  appearing  to  place  confidence  in  a  possessed  but  beautiful 
woman,  promising  a  crown  to  the  king  and  deliverance  to  the 
country.  Joan,  therefore,  prepared  to  leave  Taucouleurs,  and  to 
abandon  forever  her  weeping  parents,  who  had  traced  her  flight 
from  Domremy.  She  resisted  their  prayers,  and  mounted  her 
sorry  horse — a  present  from  her  humble  converts  among  the 
wagoner's  friends  at  Vaucouleui's.  Baudricourt  gave  her  a  sword 
and  a  soldier's  uniform.  Thus  arrayed,  she  departed  upon  her 
perilous  mission,  pursuing  her  route  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
leagues  across  a  country  infested  by  brigands,  deserters  from  the 
Burguudian  and  English  armies,  and  rendered  almost  impassable 


JOANDARC.  89 

by  the  winter  torrents.  She  started  on  Sunday,  the  13th  of 
February,  1429.  Seven  armed  men,  one  of  them  her  brother 
Pierre,  formed  her  escort,  six  of  whom  looked  upon  her  much 
less  as  a  saint  than  a  sorceress,  and  who  might  be  tempted  to 
discover  that,  whether  the  one  or  the  other,  she  was  a  yoimg  and 
beautiful  woman.  But  Joan  had  no  apprehensions  for  herself: 
"  Fear  not  for  me,"  she  said  ;  "  God  guides  me  on  my  way,  and 
will  bring  me  to  the  king  ;  I  was  born  for  that."  At  another 
time  she  said:  "My  brothers  in  Paradise  tell  me  what  to  do." 
They  slept  over  night  in  ruined  abbeys  and  abandoned  huts, 
and,  at  her  command,  stopped  twice  and  attended  mass.  At 
last,  on  the  eleventh  day,  they  approached  the  castle  of  Chinon, 
where  the  errant  court  had  for  the  moment  fixed  its  residence. 

Her  coming  was  awaited  in  anxiety  and  agitation.  The  more 
prudent  counsellors  of  the  king  would  have  dissuaded  him  from 
receiving  a  person  who,  if  not  actually  an  envoy  from  Satan, 
was  at  least  the  messenger  of  her  own  illusion.  But  the  army, 
who  felt  too  deeply  their  need  of  a  miracle  to  repulse  one  who 
offered  to  perform  one  in  their  behalf,  overruled  this  temporizing 
advice.  The  king  resolved  to  admit  Joan  to  an  audience,  and 
at  the  same  time  subject  to  trial  her  supposed  supernatural 
powers.  He  divested  himself  of  such  insignia  as  would  have 
betrayed  his  rank,  and  mingled  in  the  throng  of  courtiers. 
Joan  was  brought  in  her  peasant's  costume  to  the  hall  where 
the  audience  was  to  be  held.  The  glare  of  the  torches  and  the 
scrutiny  of  so  many  lords  and  ladies  disconcerted  her  at  first ; 
she  wandered  confusedly  among  the  guests,  seeking  with  shrink- 
ing gaze  him  towards  whom  she  was  sent.  Ko  sooner  did  she 
see  him  than  she  dropped  upon  her  knees  in  homage.  "I  am 
not  the  king,"  said  Charles  VII.  "  By  the  Lord,  sweet  prince," 
replied  Joan,  "you  are  he  and  none  other.  I  am  called  Jehanne 
la  Pucelle.  The  King  of  Heaven  sends  you  word  by  me  that 
you  shall  be  crowned  and  consecrated  in  the  city  of  Rheims,  and 
that  you  shall  be  His  vicar  and  lieutenant  in  the  kingdom  of 

12 


90  JOANDARC. 

France."  The  court  was  struck  dumb  with  wonder  at  this  evi- 
dence of  what  then  seemed  inspiration,  and  what  at  this  day 
cannot  be  regarded  as  mere  perspicacity.  It  is  one  of  the  un- 
explained, and,  doubtless,  inexphcable,  incidents  of  Joan's  mar- 
vellous career. 

At  this  point  of  our  narrative — and  as  we  enter  the  miracu- 
lous phase  of  the  life  of  its  subject — it  is  proper  to  premise  that 
every  statement — even  the  least — contained  in  it,  is  sustained  by 
evidence  of  the  most  irrefragable  character.  The  witnesses  sum- 
moned at  her  trial,  both  for  the  accusation  and  the  defence, 
the  depositions  taken  at  the  inquest  subsequently  held  for  her 
rehabilitation,  the  laborious  collocation  of  facts  and  comparison  of 
authorities  to  which  the  historians  of  France  have  devoted  them- 
selves as  to  a  labor  of  love,  have  contributed  to  the  elaboration 
of  a  narrative  which  combines  conditions  and  elements  of  authen- 
ticity of  which  few  other  chronicles  can  boast.  There  is  hardly 
an  allegation  not  supported  over  and  over  again  by  testimony 
taken  under  oath  and  furnished  by  persons  who  had  no  motive 
to  deceive.  It  would  be  a  poor  recognition  of  the  zeal  mani- 
fested by  the  biographers  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  to  regard  her 
most  authentic  story,  as  it  has  been  rescued  from  the  archives 
of  the  past,  with  any  portion  of  the  distrust  with  which  it  is  the 
custom,  often  justifiable  enough,  to  receive  the  memoirs  of  the 
middle  ages  and  of  the  Cinque  Cento  era  of  French  and  Itahan 
history. 

The  king  still  hesitated,  and  his  councils  were  distracted  by 
conflicting  opinions.  The  commander  of  his  forces  besieged  in  Or- 
leans— the  famous  Dunois — dispatched  messenger  after  messenger 
to  Charles,  imploring  him  to  send  the  inspired  maiden  to  his  reUef. 
The  king  resolved  to  subject  her  to  one  more  trial,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  testing  her  powers,  of  which  he  was  already  con- 
vinced, but  to  decide  whether  she  derived  them  from  the  Source 
of  Light  or  from  the  Prince  of  Darkness.  The  two  oracles  of 
the  time,  the  University  and  the  Parliament,  driven  from  Paris 


JOANDARC.  91 

by  the  Burgundians,  had  fixed  their  temporary  seat  at  Poi- 
tiers. Thither  the  king  himself  conducted  Joan,  and  there  he 
presided  over  the  council  assembled  to  examine  her.  The  art- 
less damsel  sustained  for  three  long  weeks  the  trying  ordeal, 
replying  to  the  profound  inquiries  of  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims 
with  a  grand  and  earnest  simplicity.  She  narrated  her  inter- 
views with  the  angels,  and  gave  the  very  language  of  St.  Michael. 
A  Dominican  friar  sought  to  draw  her  into  the  labyrinth  of 
metaphysics  :  "  Jehanne,"  he  said,  "  you  say  that  God  wishes  to 
dehver  Prance  from  her  enemies  :  if  such  is  his  will,  he  has  no 
need  of  soldiers."  "  The  soldiers  will  fight,"  she  replied  in- 
stantly, "  and  God  will  give  the  victory."  "  Aide-toi,  et  le  ciel 
t'aidera,"  she  might  have  said,  quoting  the  famous  maxim  depre- 
cating a  too  listless  reliance  upon  heaven.  Another  theologian 
asked  her  for  a  sign  or  miracle,  saying  that  without  such  a 
guaranty  of  her  sincerity,  the  king  would  not  risk  his  army. 
"  I  was  not  sent  to  Poitiers  to  give  signs,"  she  answered  :  "  my 
sign  will  be  the  deliverance  of  Orleans  from  siege.  If  you  wish 
to  see  my  sign,  give  me  soldiers,  few  or  many  matters  not, 
I'll  go."  A  learned  brother  by  the  name  of  Seguin,  a  native 
of  Limoges,  and  in  consequence  speaking  one  of  the  most  dis- 
agreeable dialects  in  France,  now  felt  disposed  to  break  a  lance 
with  Joan,  and  opened  the  tilt  in  this  wise  :  "  What  language 
did  St.  Michael  speak  ?"  "  Better  French  than  you  do,"  retort- 
ed Joan — her  first  display  of  causticity,  though  not  by  any  means 
her  last.  Frere  Seguin  held  his  peace  thereafter,  his  colleagues 
enjoying,  as  theologians  often  will,  the  discomfiture  of  their 
brother. 

The  verdict  of  the  council  was  rendered  at  last,  to  the  effect 
that  nothing  was  impossible  to  God,  that  the  Bible  was  full  of 
mysteries  and  of  examples  which  might,  broadly  construed, 
be  taken  as  authority  in  the  case  now  before  them.  God  had 
often  intrusted  secrets,  withheld  from  men,  to  virgins,  and  espe- 
cially to  sibyls.     The  Archbishop  of  Embrun  was  of  opinion  that 


92  JOAN    DARC. 

the  demon  could  not  enter  into  a  pact  with  a  maiden  :  if,  there- 
fore, Joan  was  in  sober  truth  a  maiden,  her  evident  inspiration 
must  have  been  a  gift  from  on  high.  The  good  queen-dowager, 
Yohxnde  of  Sicily,  presided  at  the  ridiculous  examination  sug- 
gested by  the  archbishop's  theory,  and  Joan  issued  triumphant 
from  the  last  of  her  long  series  of  trials.  She  was  now  accepted 
as  the  saviour  of  the  coimtry  ;  men,  women  and  children  flocked 
to  see  her  at  the  house  in  which  she  lodged — that  of  a  lawyer's 
widow.  From  time  to  time  a  skeptic  offered  to  prove,  text  in 
hand,  and  to  her  own  satisfaction,  that  she  was  an  impostor  ;  to 
one  of  them  she  repUed :  "I  know  neither  A  nor  B  ;  but  I  have 
come  from  God  to  deliver  Orleans  and  consecrate  the  king." 

There  was  now  no  time  to  lose.  The  citizens  of  Orleans 
clamored  for  the  deliverance  which  the  Pucelle  promised  in  the 
name  of  the  Most  High,  and  Dunois  sent  daily  to  hasten  her 
approach.  Joan  was  equipped  as  became  her  new  condition  ; 
the  king's  artificers  forged  a  suit  of  light  and  polished  armor, 
in  which  she  girded  herself  for  the  battle.  Her  standard  was 
white,  strewn  with  the  emblematic  fleurs-de-hs,  and  fringed 
with  silk  ;  an  embroidery  in  the  centre  represented  the  Saviour 
with  the  globe  in  his  hands.  Her  jet  black  horse  formed  a 
striking  contrast  to  her  banner  and  coat  of  mail.  She  directed  a 
search  to  be  mad^  in  the  neighboring  church  of  St.  Catherine  de 
Fierbois  for  a  long,  rusty  sword,  upon  the  blade  of  which  would 
be  seen  five  deep  crosses.  The  sword  was  found  behind  the 
altar  of  the  chapel.  This  was  considered  at  the  time  an  instance 
of  Joan's  supernatural  knowledge,  but  it  was  afterwards  clearly 
shown  that  she  had  stopped  to  pray  in  St.  Catherine's,  before 
entering  Chinon ;  she  had  undoubtedly  seen  the  sword  there,  and 
made  use  of  the  circumstance  to  augment  the  popular  confidence 
in  her  divinity.  Her  staff  consisted  of  Jean  Daulon,  a  knight 
who  had  grown  grey  in  the  service  of  the  king,  and  who  was 
made  lier  equerry  and  protector  ;  of  a  page  of  noble  birth,  of 
two  heralds,  a  steward  and   two  valets.     Her  .brother,  Pierre, 


JOANDARC.  93 

who  had  permanently  attached  himself  to  her  cause,  and  her  con- 
fessor, Jean  Pasquerel,  a  hermit  of  the  order  of  St.  Augustin, 
completed  the  body-guard  with  which  she  set  forth  upon  her 
errand. 

She  joined  the  king's  forces  at  Blois,  where  she  was  received 
in  triumph  by  the  rank  and  file.  The  soldiers  welcomed  her 
as  a  saint  commissioned  to  deliver  the  country,  the  officers 
respected  her  as  one  who,  at  least,  bore  an  order  from  the  king, 
even  if  she  had  come  to  execute  no  higher  bidding.  She  at  once 
commenced  a  reform  of  the  morals  of  the  army.  Cards  and  dice 
were  thrown  into  the  flames,  and  the  instruments  with  which  the 
black  art  was  pursued,  broken  up  ;  women  of  bad  life  were 
driven  from  the  camp,  and  priests  and  preachers  urged  countless 
throngs  of  listeners  to  repentance  and  amendment.  Joan  fol- 
lowed these  holy  men  on  foot  through  the  streets  of  the  city  ; 
she  summoned  before  her  the  most  terrible  and  unconscionable 
brigands  in  the  army,  and  forbade  them  even  to  swear.  The 
redoubtable  Lahire  found  it  so  difficult  to  obey  this  order,  that 
Joan  was  glad  to  effect  a  compromise,  and  allowed  him  to  swear 
"by  hisstaffi" 

She  advanced  with  her  forces  towards  Orleans  along  the 
southern  bank  of  the  Loire.  At  night,  an  altar  was  built  in  the 
open  air,  and  Joan  and  her  officers  partook  of  the  holy  communion. 
She  slept  in  her  armor,  though  its  weight  fatigued  her  sorely. 
On  the  third  day,  she  arrived  opposite  Orleans,  the  river  lying 
between  the  city  and  her  troops.  Dunois  saw  her  from  the 
ramparts,  and,  crossing  the  stream  in  a  boat,  met  her  at  the 
water's  edge.  "Are  you  the  bastard  of  Orleans?"  she  asked. 
"  I  am,"  he  replied,  "  and  glad  I  am  at  your  approach."  "  Have 
no  fear,"  returned  Joan;  "God  lays  out  my  path  before  me, 
and  for  this  was  I  born.  I  bring  you  the  best  succor  ever  borne 
to  knight  or  city — succor  sent  from  Heaven."  The  wind  at  this 
moment  changed,  and  the  boats,  laden  with  provisions  and  arms 
for  the  besieged,  which  had  been  for   several  days  prevented 


94  JOANDARG. 

from  landing  their  cargoes,  approached  the  wharf  and  discharged 
their  welcome  burden. 

The  next  morning,  Joan  dismissed  her  escort,  charging  them 
to  report  her  safe  arrival  to  Charles.  She  crossed  the  river  with 
two  hundred  lances  only,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening 
of  the  29th  of  April,  she  entered  the  beleaguered  city.  She  was 
mounted  upon  a  white  charger,  preceded  by  her  standard  and 
followed  by  a  retinue  of  nobles  and  lords,  and  soldiers  of  her 
escort  and  of  the  garrison.  Men  and  women  lighted  her  path 
with  torches  ;  priests  and  children  knelt  by  the  roadside,  and 
reverentially  touched  her  spurs  and  stirrups.  She  went  at  once 
to  the  cathedral,  and  joined  in  a  Te  Deum  for  the  hberated  city. 
The  wife  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans'  treasurer  had  been  directed 
to  place  her  house  at  Joan's  disposal ;  beneath  this  hospitable 
roof  she  removed  her  cumbrous  armor,  and  sat  down  to  a  well- 
spread  table.  In  remembrance  of  her  father's  poverty  and  the 
simplicity  in  which  she  and  her  family  had  passed  theu"  lives,  she 
accepted  nothing  but  bread  and  a  glass  of  the  wine  furnished 
by  the  vintage  of  the  neighboring  hills.  After  singing  a  hymn 
with  the  family  of  her  hostess,  and  affectionately  kissing  her 
standard,  she  retired  to  rest  with  the  treasurer's  daughter, 
Charlotte. 

The  next  day  she  dictated  a  letter  to  the  commander  of 
the  English  forces,  urging  him  to  abandon  the  siege,  and 
promising  him  honorable  treatment  if  he  would  come  and 
deliberate  upon  the  subject  with  her  in  the  city.  The  Eng- 
lish captain,  Gladesdall,  received  the  missive  with  contempt,  call- 
ing Joan  a  cow-tender  and  a  wanton.  He  detained  the  herald 
prisoner,  and  threatened  to  bui-n  him,  as  a  specimen  of  the 
treatment  his  mistress  might  expect.  Joan  then  sent  to  Tal- 
bot, challenging  him  to  single  combat  before  the  ramparts, 
adding,  "  if  you  are  victorious,  yon  shall  burn  me  at  the  stake  ; 
if  vanquished,  you  shall  raise  the  siege."  Talbot  replied  by  a 
disdainful  silence — the  only  answer,  indeed,  that  a  veteran  could 


JOANDARC.  95 

return  to  a  peasant  girl  of  twenty  years  who  dared  him  to  the 
field. 

Joan  was  now  anxious  to  attack  the  English  fortresses,  or  as 
they  were  then  called,  bastilles.  She  manifested  the  utmost 
confidence  in  herself  and  in  the  divine  assistance  upon  which 
she  counted  in  the  hour  of  need — a  confidence  which  was  fully 
shared  by  the  people  and  the  soldiers.  Dunois  affected  to  yield 
in  all  things  to  her  advice,  though  often  in  defiance  of  his  own 
judgment,  and  as  often  offending  the  counselloi's  whose  opinions 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  ask  and  to  respect.  Gamaches,  an 
old  soldier,  furled  his  banner  and  surrendered  it  to  Dunois,  saying 
that  he  preferred  fighting  in  the  ranks  to  obeying  the  mad  ca- 
prices of  a  girl.  Joan  was  in  fact  regarded  with  distrust  by  the 
officers  of  her  own  army,  and  by  them  as  well  as  by  the  Eng- 
lish, the  wish  was  often  uttered,  accompanied  by  coarse  exple- 
tives, that  she  might  go  home  to  her  needle  and  her  flocks. 

Dunois  soon  announced  to  Joan  the  approach  of  a  strong 
English  force  under  Falstafif,  which,  with  those  already  upon  the 
ground,  would  complete  the  investment  of  the  city.  Joan,  fear- 
ing that  the  officers  would  prevail  upon  Dunois  to  act  without 
consulting  her,  said,  "  Bastard,  bastard,  the  moment  this  army 
appears  upon  the  field,  let  me  know  it ;  for  if  it  shows  itself,  and 
I  do  not  give  it  battle,  I  will  have  your  head  taken  off."  Some 
time  later,  Joan  was  attempting  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  but  an  anxiety  for  which  she  could  not  account  prevented 
her  from  closing  her  eyes.  Suddenly  jumping  up,  she  called  for 
Daulon  and  ordered  him  to  arm  her,  saying  that  a  presentiment 
instructed  her  to  attack  the  English.  The  streets  were  full  of 
armed  men,  and  distant  sounds  told  of  the  shock  of  contending 
forces.  "God  bless  us!"  exclaimed  Joan,  "the  blood  of  French- 
men is  flowing  !  Why  was  I  not  awakened  sooner  ?  Quick,  my 
arms !  my  horse  !"  She  rushed  half  equipped  from  the  house, 
mounted  her  steed,  and  receiving  her  standard  from  an  open 
window,  spurred  toward  the  gate  of  the  city.      She  met  several 


96  JOANDARC. 

of  her  soldiers  returning  wounded  from  the  fight.  "  Alas  !"  slic 
said,  "  I  can  never  see  French  blood  without  my  hair  standing  on 
my  head."  She  was  speedily  informed  that  the  garrison  had 
attempted  to  surprise  one  of  the  English  fortresses,  and  that 
they  had  been  ingloriously  driven  back  by  Talbot  to  the  ram- 
parts. She  dashed  through  the  portal,  rallied  her  men,  led  them 
back  to  the  charge,  and  assailed  the  fortress  with  the  spirit  and 
courage  of  a  tigress.  The  victory  was  almost  instantaneous,  and 
Joan,  forgetting  her  indignation  at  the  treachery  of  her  officers 
in  the  emotion  naturally  excited  by  the  first  sight  of  carnage, 
wept  over  her  enemies  who  had  died  without  confession,  and 
uttered  a  hasty  and  shuddering  prayer  for  the  repose  of  their 
unshriven  souls. 

It  was  now  resolved  to  attack  the  remaining  bastilles  of  the 
Enghsh,  and  if  possible  disengage  the  city.  Joan  ascended  to 
the  summit  of  a  tower,  attached  a  summons  to  surrender  to 
an  arrow,  and  shot  it  with  her  own  hands  into  the  hostile  camp. 
The  enemy  replied  by  invectives  and  tauntg,  coupled  with  atro- 
cious insinuations  against  the  character  and  life  of  Joan.  She 
shed  tears  as  she  heard  them  read.  Drying  her  eyes  with 
the  back  of  her  hands,  she  said,  "  Pshaw!  the  Lord  knows  these 
are  nothing  but  lies."  She  started  the  next  morning  at  break 
of  day — Saturday,  the  7th  of  May- — to  lead  the  assault.  Her 
hostess  begged  her  to  taste  a  morsel  of  fresh  shad  which  had  been 
just  taken  from  the  river.  "  Keep  it  till  night,"  said  Joan,  add- 
ing with  unconscious  profanity,  "I  wiU  bring  a  Goddam  with  me 
who  shall  eat  his  share."  She  summoned  Gaucourt,  one  of  the 
refractory  officers,  to  open  the  gate  of  Bourgogne.  He  refused, 
and  the  impatient  army  forced  it  from  its  hinges.  Their  boats 
soon  covered  the  bosom  of  the  Loire,  Joan  and  Lahire  dragging 
their  horses  after  them  ;  the  sun  rose  upon  this  inspiring  scene. 
Early  in  the  contest,  Joan  was  wounded  in  the  shoulder,  an 
arrow  passing  through  her  flesh  and  out  upon  the  other  side. 
She  fell  inanimate  in  the  moat,  and  a  party  of  English  descended 


JOANDARC.  97 

from  the  bastille  to  secure  the  inestimable  prize.  Gamaches, 
who  had  refused  to  fight  under  her  orders,  valiantly  defended 
her  till  aid  arrived  and  she  was  carried  from  the  scone.  She  be- 
came a  woman  again  at  the  sight  of  the  blood  pouring  from  the 
wound,  and  she  prayed  to  St.  Michael  not  to  desert  her  at  this 
strait.  She  repelled  those  who  proposed  to  heal  or  charm 
the  wound  by  magic — at  that  time  a  common  resource  among  the 
superstitious — saying  that  she  would  rather  die  than  be  restored 
against  the  will  of  God.  The  pain  was  alleviated  by  an  applica- 
tion of  olive  oil,  and  then  Joan  withdrew  into  a  vineyard  to  pray 
for  her  soldiers,  who,  deeply  discouraged  by  the  mishap  which 
had  befallen  her,  were  flying  from  the  field. 

Her  standard  still  lay  in  the  moat  where  it  had  fallen  from 
her  hands.  Her  equerry  Daulon,  unwilling  that  such  a  trophy 
should  come  into  the  possession  of  the  enemy,  proceeded  with  a 
handful  of  men  to  redeem  it.  He  returned  successful,  and  found 
Joan  again  on  horseback.  As  he  restored  it  to  her,  its  folds 
opened  in  the  breeze,  and  the  I'ays  of  the  now  setting  sun  struck 
full  upon  it.  The  retreating  French  rallied  at  the  signal,  and 
rushed  back  at  the  call  of  their  resuscitated  saint.  The  bastille 
was  overpowered,  attacked  with  irresistible  impetus  from  three 
sides  at  once.  A  panic  seized  the  English,  and  in  their  super- 
stitious terrors,-  they  saw  Joan's  celestial  cohorts,  mounted  on 
fieiy  chargers,  descending  from  the  clouds.  Gladesdall,  who 
had  so  foully  insulted  Joan,  fell  from  a  bridge  which  a  cannon 
ball  shattered  beneath  his  feet,  and  was  drowned  before  her 
very  eyes.  "  Heaven  have  mercy  on  thy  soul !"  she  cried,  as  he 
disappeared  from  view.  Five  hundred  men  were  put  to  the 
sword,  and  the  foe  was  thus  swept  from  the  southern  bank  of 
the  Loire.  The  next  day,  Sunday,  the  English  abandoned  the 
fortresses  of  the  north,  leaving  their  ai'tillery,  their  prisoners, 
their  sick  and  Avounded,  behind.  The  retreat  was  conducted  in 
good  order  by  Talbot  and  Suffolk.  Joan  would  not  suffer  them 
to  be  pursued,  but  while  they  were  still  in  sight,  ordered  an 

13 


98  JOANDARC. 

altar  to  be  erected  on  the  plain,  and  thanks  to  be  offered  to 
heaven  for  the  deliverance  of  the  city.  The  siege,  which  had 
lasted  seven  months  before  Joan's  arrival,  was  raised  ten  days 
after  she  entered  its  walls.  The  people  recognized  her  as  their 
savionr,  and  as  she  returned  to  Orleans,  her  armor  dyed  with 
blood,  they  prostrated  themselves  before  her,  embracing  the 
very  knees  of  her  horse.  Her  fame  spread  over  the  continent, 
and  in  the  remotest  corner  of  France  the  people  waited  im- 
patiently for  tidings  of  the  peasant  saint — so  soon  to  be  the 
maiden  martyr.  Orleans  made  Joan  its  tutelary  divinity,  and 
inscribed  the  8th  of  May  in  its  archives  as  its  sacred  and  peculiar 
anniversary. 

Bidding  adieu  to  her  kind  hostess  and  to  the  people  she  had 
delivered,  Joan  led  her  victorious  army  back  to  Blois,  where  the 
king  received  her  not  only  as  one  holding  authority  upon  earth, 
but  as  one  whom  he  recognized  as  bearing  a  mission  from 
heaven.  Joan  offered  to  conduct  him  at  once  to  Rheims,  though 
the  intervening  country  was  occupied  by  the  English  and  Bur- 
gundians,  there  to  consecrate  him  king  in  the  cathedral  of 
Clovis  and  Philip  Augustus.  Should  the  English  anticipate  him, 
and,  by  a  rapid  movement  upon  the  ecclesiastical  city,  be  the 
first  to  crown  their  pretender,  young  Henry  VI.,  Charles  would 
forever  lose  the  throne  of  France.  Joan  was  alone  in  this 
opinion  ;  the  step  was  denounced  as  foolhardy  and  impracticable 
by  the  ablest  counsellors  of  the  king.  "I  shall  last  but  a  year 
more,"  she  said,  sadly  ;  "you  must  employ  me  quick  or  not  at 
all."  The  king  hesitated,  and  closeting  himself  with  bishops 
and  favorites,  wasted  the  precious  hours  in  unavailing  delibera- 
tion. At  last  he  yielded  to  the  remonstrances  of  his  patroness, 
resolving  to  attempt  the  enterprise  ;  but  first  sending  forth  the 
Duke  d'Alenpon,  under  Joan's  guidance,  to  drive  the  English 
from  the  strongholds  yet  in  their  possession  upon  the  Loire. 
Suffolk  was  attacked  at  Jargeau  ;  Joan  led  the  assault,  one  of 
the  most  bloody  of  the  war,  with  5,000  men.     She  was  thrown 


JOANDARG.  99 

from  her  horse  by  a  stone,  which  cleft  her  hehnet  upon  her  head. 
She  recovered  herself,  and  drip^^ing  with  the  water  of  the  moat, 
rode  victorious  into  the  city.  Meun  and  Beaugency  sui'rendered 
without  resistance.  Joan  was  now  regarded  as  invincible,  and 
the  Duke  de  Richemont,  grand  constable  or  commander-in-chief 
of  the  armies  of  France,  until  now  in  disgrace  with  the  king, 
joined  her  standard  unsolicited.  Her  first  battle  in  the  open 
field  took  place  immediately  after  this  accession  to  her  forces. 
"  We  will  have  them  to-day,"  said  Joan,  "  even  if  to  escape  they 
shovild  hang  themselves  to  the  clouds."  2,000  English  were  left 
dead  upon  the  plain.  Joan  wept  when  the  trumpets  proclaimed 
the  victory.  Seeing  a  wounded  wretch  struggling  in  the  agonies 
of  death,  she  sprang  from  her  horse,  and,  taking  his  head  in  her 
arms,  supported  him  till  a  priest  whom  she  had  summoned  could 
arrive  and  grant  him  absolution.  This  struggle — known  as  the 
battle  of  Patay — decided  the  fate  of  France.  The  English  retired 
in  disorder,  burning  the  villages  and  devastating  the  fields  through 
which  they  passed.  Joan  returned  to  Orleans,  and  then  rejoined 
the  king  at  Gien-on-the-Loire. 

The  indolent  young  monarch  at  last  resolved  to  make  the  pil- 
grimage to  EJieims.  He  could  not,  indeed,  have  longer  resisted 
the  ardent  solicitations  of  the  motley  but  enthusiastic  throngs 
who  now  flocked  to  Joan's  standard.  They  departed  on  the 
29th  of  June.  Avoiding  Paris,  which  was  held  by  the  Eng- 
lish regent,  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  they  halted  before  the  city 
of  Auxerre.  Not  caring  to  lay  siege  to  it,  they  accejDted  the 
provisions  which  it  offered  as  a  compromise  between  resistance 
and  surrender.  On  the  4th  of  July  they  arrived  at  Troyes, 
where,  eight  years  before,  the  treaty  had  been  signed  which 
excluded  Charles  VII.  from  the  throne  of  his  ancestors.  Joan 
promised  that  the  city  should  yield  or  fall  within  three  days, 
though  defended  by  a  strong  force  of  Burgundians.  The  latter 
were  brought  to  terms  by  the  sight  of  the  preparations  for  the 
siege  within  the  allotted  time,  and  on  the  9th  of  the  month. 


100  J  0  A  N    D  A  K  0  . 

Charles  and  Joan  made  their  entrance,  side  by  side,  into  the 
Burgundiau  stronghold.  Chrdons  submitted  in  its  turn.  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  peasants  inhabiting  the  localities  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Joan's  birth-place,  through  Avhich  the  army  was  now 
passing,  knew  no  bounds.  Her  two  younger  brothers  joined  her 
standard,  and  received  emblems  of  knighthood  from  the  king. 

They  now  aj)proached  the  hmit  of  their  march.  Charles 
anticipated  a  vigorous  resistance  at  Rheims,  and,  as  he  had  no 
artillery,  looked  forward  to  a  long  and  difficult  siege.  But  Joan 
reassured  him  saying:  "Have  no  fear;  the  citizens  of  Rheims 
will  come  forth  to  meet  you.  Act  with  energy,  and  you  will 
recover  your  kingdom."  The  army  arrived  before  Rheims  on 
the  16th  of  July.  The  English  quitted  the  city  secretly,  and  the 
notables  laid  the  keys  of  the  gates  at  the  feet  of  the  king.  Joan 
dictated  the  next  morning  her  famous  letter  to  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  in  which  she  sought  to  reconcile  the  leaders  of  the 
two  contending  factions.  "Pardon  each  other  in  good  faith," 
she  said,  "as  loyal  Christians  should.  If  you  must  make  war, 
Prince  of  Burgundy,  go  fight  the  Saracen.  The  King  of  Heaven 
warns  you,  through  me,  that  you  shall  win  no  battle  against  the 
French,  and  that  all  those  who  fight  against  the  holy  kingdom 
of  France  fight  against  Jesus.  I  pray  and  beseech  you,  with 
clasped  hands  and  upon  bended  knees,  wage  no  battle  against 
us  ;  you  will  gain  nothing,  in  whatever  number  you  may  come, 
and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  shed  blood  in  vain.  Three  weeks  ago 
I  sent  you  conciliating  letters  by  my  herald,  bidding  you  to  the 
coronation  of  the  king,  which,  to-day,  Sunday,  the  17th  day  of 
'  this  present  month  of  July,  takes  place  in  the  city  of  Rheims. 
I  have  had  no  answer  nor  news  of  the  herald.  I  recommend 
you  to  God,  and  pray  that  He  may  make  peace  between  us." 

The  imposing  ceremony  of  the  consecration  took  place  at 
noon,  at  Notre  Dame  de  Rheims.  The  archbishop  who  performed 
it  had  come  from  Blois  with  the  king,  and  owed  his  diocese,  as 
Charles  did  his  crown,  to  the  Maid  of  Orleans.     Joan  stood  by 


JOANDARC.  101 

the  altai-,  her  banner  in  her  hand.  The  holy  oil  which  had  been 
preserved  since  the  time  of  Clovis,  was  used  in  anointing  the 
sovereign.  When  the  time-honored  ritual  was  concluded,  Joan 
embraced  the  king's  knees,  and  speaking  through  her  tears,  said : 
"Now  is  accomplished,  0  sweet  king,  the  pleasure  of  the  Lord, 
who  ordered  me  to  raise  the  siege  of  Orleans,  and  conduct  you 
to  your  city  of  Kheims,  that  you  might  receive  His  holy  ordina- 
tion, and  show  yourself  to  be  the  king,  and  that  to  you  the 
kingdom  belongs."  That  none  of  the  formalities  customary  at  a 
coronation  might  be  omitted,  Charles  went,  after  the  ceremony,  to 
a  neighboring  hospital  and  laid  his  hands  upon  persons  afflicted 
with  the  king's  evil.  Thus,  being  the  first  consecrated,  he  became 
king  by  divine  right  ;  had  the  English  succeeded  in  conferring 
upon  their  pretender  a  similar  ordination,  the  second  baptism, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  nation,  would  have  been  merely  a  parody 
and  profanation  of  the  first. 

Joan  felt,  on  entering  Rheims,  that  her  mission  was  accom- 
plished, and  her  task  on  earth  achieved.  She  even  had  a  pre- 
sentiment of  her  approaching  end,  though  not  of  the  martyrdom 
which  was  to  attend  it.  "0  excellent  and  devout  people  !" 
she  said,  as  she  rode  into  the  city  ;  "  if  I  am  to  die,  let  me 
be  buried  here  !"  Still  her  triumph  was  not  devoid  of  gratifying 
episodes.  Women  brought  their  children  to  her,  that  they 
might  grasp  the  hem  of  her  garments.  Soldiers  fell  upon  their 
knees  and  kissed  her  standard.  Warriors  grown  grey  in  the 
harness  placed  their  weapons  in  contact  with  her  sword,  that 
the  touch  might  sanctify  their  arms  and  the  cause  in  which  they 
might  draw  them.  But  she  modestly  declined  this  superstitious 
worship,  attributing  all  the  glory  of  her  work  to  Him  who  had 
sent  her.  But  another  and  a  purer  pleasure  awaited  her  at 
Rheims.  Her  father  and  uncle — whom  the  city  received  and 
treated  as  its  guests — had  come  from  Domremy  to  meet  her. 
The  interview  between  the  parent  and  his  child  was  long  and 
touching  ;  he  told  her  of  the  cottage,  her  mother,  and  her  sister  ; 


102  JOAN    DARC. 

of  the  church,  the  vineyard,  and  the  flocks ;  and  sought,  by  every 
argument  he  could  devise,  to  induce  her  to  return.  "  Would  to 
Heaven,"  she  said,  "that  I  could  lay  down  my  arms  and  return 
to  serve  my  father  and  mother,  by  tending  their  herds  with 
my  sister  and  brothers !  They  would  be  glad  to  see  me !" 
Happy  would  it  have  been  for  Joan,  and  happier  still  for  history 
and  humanity,  had  she  listened  to  the  entreaties  of  her  family 
and  the  counsels  of  her  conscience  ;  the  annals  of  England  and 
France  would  have  been  spared  the  most  revolting  tragedy 
which  sullies  their  blood-stained  pages. 

The  genius  or  the  inspiration  of  Joan  expired  with  the 
necessity  which  had  created  and  sustained  it.  This  necessity 
no  longer  existed  after  the  coronation  of  the  dauphin.  France 
was  already  casting  forth  the  usurpers  from  her  bosom,  and  the 
path  of  the  king  lay  clear  and  distinct  before  him.  Neither  he 
nor  the  country  needed  the  further  interposition  of  the  peculiar 
elements  which  had  constituted  the  authority  and  influence  of  the 
Pucelle,  from  whatever  source  it  was  derived.  He  had  been 
consecrated  by  the  holy  oil — that  divine  balsam  which,  em2:>loyed 
to  anoint  the  sovereign,  has  often  served  to  heal  the  animosities 
begotten  in  civil  war.  The  season  for  miracles  had  passed,  and 
even  the  simple  magic  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was  henceforward 
inopportune.  Though  she  felt  this  keenly,  as  her  replies  to 
questions  addressed  her  upon  her  trial  distinctly  proved,  she 
suflered  herself  to  be  overruled  by  the  army,  who  besought 
her  to  remain  their  prophetess  and  their  saint.  She  remained, 
though  bereft  of  her  inspiration  and  soon  to  be  shorn  of  her 
infallibility.  The  oracle  within  her  was  silent ;  the  voices  which 
had  whispered  their  celestial  counsels  in  her  ear  were  dumb. 
She  was  a  woman,  lost  and  out  of  place  in  the  midst  of  courts 
and  camps,  where  she  had  lately  been  a  warrior  and  an  apostle. 

Late  in  the  month  of  August,  Charles,  Joan  and  their  army 
approached  the  city  of  Paris.  Joan  would  willingly  have 
stopped  at  the  suburb  of  St,  Denis,  the  burial-place  of  the  kings 


JOAN    DARC.  103 

of  France,  and  consequently  possessing,  like  Rheims,  a  sacred 
character  in  her  eyes.  She  felt  an  undefined  dread  of  Paris, 
which  she  was  unable  to  explain  in  words  ;  it  was  doubtless 
the  consciousness  of  the  danger  to  which  her  life,  her  inspiration 
and  her  motives  were  exposed,  when  confronted  with  the  sar- 
casm, the  raillery  and  infidelity  of  the  metropolis.  An  assault 
was,  nevertheless,  decided  upon,  and  Joan  was  the  first  who 
reached  the  outer  moat.  She  scrambled  over  a  wall  and  arrived 
at  the  second,  which  was  a  water  moat,  and  full  to  its  edge. 
While  sounding  its  depth  with  her  lance,  she  was  struck  by 
an  arrow  which  passed  through  her  thigh.  The  assault  Avas 
repulsed,  the  besiegers  losing  fifteen  hundred  men.  Maledictions 
were  freely  uttered  against  Joan,  who  was  made  to  bear  the 
responsibility  of  an  attack  which  she  had  ardently  opposed. 
During  the  winter  she  laid  siege  to  two  towns — Le  Moustier  and 
La  Charity — victorious  in  the  first,  unsuccessful  in  the  second. 

In  May,  1430,  she  marched  to  the  relief  of  Compiegne,  which 
was  besieged  by  the  united  forces  of  the  English  and  the  Burgun- 
dians.  She  threw  her  troops  into  the  town,  and  on  the  24th,  led 
a  sortie  with  six  hundred  men.  They  crossed  the  bridge  spanning 
the  river  Oise,  and  entered  the  field  occupied  by  the  enemy's 
camp.  Joan  was  easily  recognizable  by  the  rich  velvet  tunic 
which  she  wore  over  her  armor.  It  was  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon ;  the  Burgundians  were  taken  completely  by  surprise, 
with  such  marvellous  celerity  was  the  onset  conducted.  It  was 
repulsed,  however,  and  the  French  withdrew  in  disorder  toward 
the  bridge.  Joan  covered  the  retreat,  fighting  with  desperate 
valor  and  facing  the  enemy  even  in  her  flight.  She  arrived  the 
last  at  the  draw,  just  in  time  to  see  it  raised  before  her,  cutting 
off  the  only  path  of  escape.  She  was  surrounded,  seized  and 
dragged  from  her  horse.  Lionel  de  Vendume,  into  whose  hands 
she  fell,  sold  her  for  a  price  to  Jean  de  Luxembourg,  general  in 
chief  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  Her  capture  was  celebrated  by 
the  cannon  of  the  camps  and  the  Te  Deum  of  the  cathedrals,  in 


104  JOAN    DARC. 

all  the  provinces  yet  faithful  to  the  allies.  Her  loss  was  de- 
plored with  grief  and  consternation  in  Compiegne,  and  the  bells 
of  the  churches  pealed  forth  a  solemn  requiem  in  memory  of 
their  transcendent  heroine. 

Joan  was  imjjrisoned  by  Luxembourg  in  his  castle  of  Beau- 
revoir,  where,  though  closely  confined,  she  was  kindly  treated 
by  the  wife  and  sister  of  her  captor.  They  besought  her  to  lay 
aside  her  martial  attire,  offering  her  cloth  of  which  to  make  gar- 
ments more  suited  to  her  sex.  She  declined,  saying  that  without 
the  permission  of  God  she  would  not  quit  the  costume  in  which 
she  had  been  permitted  to  serve  His  cause.  In  the  meantime, 
the  English,  whose  rage  against  her  had  been  inflamed  by  her 
capture,  were  intriguing  for  the  possession  of  her  person.  They 
felt  that  if  she  was  not  condemned  and  executed  as  a  sorceress, 
and  her  exploits  and  triumphs  thus  repudiated  and  branded  as 
the  work  of  the  Evil  One,  she  would  be  forever  regarded  as  a 
saint  and  her  acts  chronicled  as  miracles.  They,  who  had  fought 
against  her,  would  be  thus  placed  in  the  position  of  enemies 
of  heaven  ;  their  cause  was,  therefore,  unrighteous,  and  their  lot 
perdition.  The  inquisition  of  Paris,  the  ally  of  the  usurpers, 
and  the  University,  the  ally  of  the  inquisition,  claimed  with 
pressing  instance  the  body  of  Joan  from  Luxembourg.  They 
even  invoked  the  ecclesiastical  authority,  and,  suborning  the 
fierce  and  fanatical  bishop  of  Beauvais,  Cauchon  by  name,  bribed 
him  to  claim  Joan  as  a  prisoner  of  war  taken  within  the  limits 
of  his  diocese.  A  correspondence  ensued  with  the  king  of  Eng- 
land, at  the  close  of  which  Cauchon  offered  to  Luxembourg,  in 
the  name  of  his  majesty,  six  thousand  francs  in  exchange  for  the 
body  of  the  captive,  to  be  judged  by  himself  and  the  grand 
iiupiisitor,  jointly.  Observing  that  Luxembourg  hesitated,  he 
finally  offered  ten  thousand  francs,  ujjon  which  the  nefarious 
bargain  was  concluded. 

These  negotiations  had  occupied  six  months.     Joan  had  been 
transferred  from  prison  to  prison,  her  captors,  the  Burgundians, 


JOANDARC.  105 

fearing  either  a  rescue  by  the  French  or  a  seizure  by  the  Eng- 
hsh.  At  Beaurevoir,  maddened  by  captivity,  she  threw  herself 
headlong  from  the  tower  in  which  she  was  confined,  maiminsr 
not  kilhng  herself,  in  the  fall.  At  Arras,  a  companion  in  capti- 
vity, a  Scotchman  and  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  Charles  VII., 
showed  her  a  small  painting  which  he  carried  concealed  upon  his 
person,  in  which  she  was  represented  as  delivering  to  the 
dauphin  the  letter  of  Baudricourt.  Her  portrait  had  never  to 
her  knowledge  been  taken,  and  this  proof  of  the  interest  she  had 
excited  at  so  early  a  period  of  her  career,  affected  the  poor  cap- 
tive to  tears.  At  Crotoy,  on  the  English  Channel,  whose  severe 
and  imposing  citadel  has  now  disappeared  beneath  the  sands 
of  the  shore,  she  saw,  when  the  atmosphere  was  clear,  the  Eng- 
lish Downs,  the  hostile  coast  to  which  she  had  at  one  period 
hoped  to  carry  the  war  of  deliverance.  It  was  here,  condemned 
to  sohtude,  that  she  awaited  the  decree  which  was  to  consign 
her  to  the  hands  of  Bedford,  the  implacable  chief  of  her  cruel 
enemies.  Early  in  January  of  the  year  1431,  a  detachment  of 
English  5oldiei"s  presented  to  her  jailer  the  paper  ordering  her 
surrender,  and  conducted  her  in  rude  haste  to  Rouen.  Here  the 
terrible  tribunal  was  assembled ;  its  object  being  to  place  a  ban  on 
the  coronation  of  Charles,  by  proving  it  to  have  been  the  work 
of  a  sorceress,  and,  by  implication,  to  pronounce  it  nuU  and 
void  ;  to  try,  condemn,  and  execute  the  messenger  of  the  fiend, 
and  to  involve  in  her  disgrace  the  sovereign  who  owed  her  his 
crown. 

The  tribunal  consisted,  nominally,  of  one  hundred  doctors, 
ecclesiastic  and  secular,  who  constituted  the  jury,  and  of  two 
judges,  the  bishop  of  Beauvais  and  the  vicar  of  the  inquisition, 
who  were  to  pronounce  the  sentence.  Before  the  opening  of  the 
court,  spies  and  informers  were  sent  to  Domremy  to  collect  such 
evidence  against  Joan  as  village  gossip  and  the  enmities  which  her 
triumphs  had  perchance  awakened,  might,  by  skillful  distortion, 
be  made  to  present.      The  emissaries  returned  laden  with  ardent 

14 


106  JOANDARC. 

testimonials  of  her  virtues,  her  filial  obedience,  and  of  her  sin- 
cere religious  faith.  Foiled  in  this,  her  accusers  resorted  to  an 
adroit  but  infamous  scheme.  They  confined  in  her  cell  a  man 
named  Loyseleur,  giving  her  to  understand  that  he  was  a  Lor- 
rain  like  herself,  and  that  his  offence,  like  hers,  was  attachment 
to  Charles  VII.  They  hoped  that  the  sympathy  which  Joan 
could  not  fail  to  feel  for  a  compatriot,  would  induce  her  to  make 
avowals  which  might  artfully  be  made  to  pass  for  admissions  of 
crime.  While  the  crafty  Loyseleur  sought  to  draw  from  his  con- 
fiding companion  such  self-accusations,  the  bishoj)  of  Beauvais 
listened  behind  a  wainscot,  noting  down  her  replies.  Without 
the  prison,  witnesses  who  were  expected  to  depose  in  her  favor, 
were  intimidated  and  driven  from  the  city  ;  and  a  woman  who 
maintained  that  Joan  was  a  good  and  virtuous  girl,  was  burned 
alive. 

Though  thus  far  only  accused,  Joan  was  treated  as  if  con- 
victed. Her  feet  were  heavily  chained  to  a  log,  while  a  second 
chain  bound  her  by  the  waist.  It  is  even  alleged  that  she  was 
confined  in  an  iron  cage  :  such  an  instrument  was  certaifily  made, 
though  it  may  not  have  been  employed.  Her  cell  was  treble- 
locked,  and  the  three  keys  were  confided  to  three  different  per- 
sons. She  was  guarded  by  five  English  soldiers,  three  of  whom 
occupied  her  ceU  at  night.  They  treated  her  so  abominably, 
that  Bedford  was  compelled,  out  of  sheer  anxiety  lest  she  should 
die  before  her  trial,  to  remove  them  and  appoint  others  in  their 
place.  Charles  VII.,  everywhere  victorious  against  his  enemies, 
and  indifferent  to  the  fate  of  one  who  could  no  longer  serve  him, 
abandoned  her  to  her  persecutors,  after  a  single  and  ineffectual 
attempt  to  ransom  her  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy. 

On  the  21st  of  February,  Joan  was  brought  before  the 
tribunal ;  but  thirty -nine  out  of  the  one  hundred  members  of 
the  court  were  present.  She  was  chained  and  dressed  in  her 
military  costume.  She  was  allowed  neither  counsel  nor  advo- 
cate, in  defiance  of  a  custom  of  the  period,  which  forbade  persons 


JOANDARC.  107 

below  the  age  of  twenty-five  to  be  tried  or  condemned  without 
proper  and  capable  defenders.  The  bishop  of  Beauvais  addressed 
her  in  tones  of  hypocritical  kindness,  as  if  to  attest  his  impar- 
tiality. She  complained  of  the  pressure  of  the  chains  upon  her 
limbs.  The  bishop  replied  that  they  were  rendered  necessary 
by  her  early  attempts  to  escape  ;  to  which  she  I'eturned,  that  as 
she  had  never  given  her  parole  not  to  seek  safety  in  flight,  she 
had  committed  no  crime.  The  bishop,  without  ordering  her 
bonds  to  be  loosened,  caused  the  act  of  accusation  to  be  read ; 
in  which,  charged  with  offences  against  the  church  rather  than 
against  the  state,  she  was  held  to  have  been  guilty  of  heresy 
and  of  the  damnable  art  of  sorcery.  She  was  then  interrogated 
upon  her  name,  her  age,  and  her  faith.  Upon  the  latter  point, 
she  said  that  her  mother  had  taught  her  to  recite  the  Pater,  the 
Ave,  and  the  Credo.  Upon  being  asked  to  repeat  aloud  the  two 
prayers  and  the  profession  of  faith,  she  hesitated,  and  finally 
refused  ;  offering,  however,  to  say  them  to  the  bishojD,  if  he 
would  condescend  to  hear  her  in  confession.  This  was  an  adroit 
turn,  for  it  gave  her  a  reasonable  pretext  for  avoiding  a  public 
recital  of  the  prayers,  which,  being  in  Latin,  she  might  have 
repeated  inaccurately,  thus  exposing  herself  to  the  subtle  logic 
of  the  church,  and,  had  she  made  the  slightest  error,  to  the 
accusation  of  holding  heretical  opinions.  It  offered  her,  too, 
the  chance,  though  a  slight  one,  of  converting  her  temporal 
judge  into  her  spiritual  adviser.  But  Cauchon  refused  and 
adjourned  the  session. 

The  following  day  Joan  was  urged  to  abridge  the  trial  and 
ease  her  conscience  by  confessing  everything  she  knew.  She 
was  easily  brought  to  swear  that  she  would  truthfully  narrate  all 
that  concerned  herself ;  but  as  to  what  regarded  God  and  the 
king,  "they  might  cut  her  head  off  rather."  She  at  last  con- 
sented to  tell  the  story  of  her  visions,  of  her  sleepless  nights,  and 
of  her  first  interview  with  the  dauphin.  All  this  she  narrated  in 
her  innocent,  almost  infantine  manner.     She  would  not  say  by 


108  JO  AN    D  ARC. 

what  means  she  had  recognized  his  majesty,  and  was  led  back  to 
her  cell  almost  fainting  with  fatigue  and  emotion. 

Upon  the  third  day,  urged  by  the  bishop  to  divulge  certain 
secrets  to  which  she  was  supposed  to  be  a  party,  she  said : 
"My  lord,  reflect  that  you  are  my  judge,  and  that  you  are  put- 
ting yourself  in  great  danger,  for  verily  I  was  sent  by  God." 
The  interrogatory  then  continued:  "Do  you  still  hear  your 
voices?"  "Yes."  "When  did  you  hear  them  last?"  "To-day." 
"  What  were  you  doing?"  "I  was  asleejD  and  they  awoke  me." 
"Did  you  go  upon  your  knees  to  reply?"  "No;  I  simply 
thanked  them  for  their  consolation  ;  I  was  sitting  upon  my  bed, 
and  prayed  them  to  assist  me  in  my  distress."  "Did  they  tell 
you  that  they  would  save  you  from  your  present  danger?"  "I 
decline  replying."  Being  pressed  to  disclose  the  whole  truth 
upon  the  matters  the  court  wished  to  investigate,  she  answered  : 
"Children  say  that  people  are  hung  sometimes  for  speaking  the 
truth." 

Thus  circumvented  and  disconcerted,  the  bishop  of  Beauvais 
puzzled  his  brain  to  invent  a  question  requiring  a  categoric  an- 
swer, yes  or  no,  either  of  which  would  subject  her  to  an  accusa- 
tion of  heresy.  There  was  one  question  which,  in  that  age, 
could  hardly  be  propounded  to  any  living  being  without  crime 
on  the  part  of  tlie  interrogator — that  as  to  the  belief  of  the  re- 
spondent respecting  his  or  her  salvation  ;  and  this  the  perfidious 
bishop  resolved  to  address  to  Joan.  Should  she  reply  that  she 
did  not  think  herself  in  a  state  of  grace,  she  acknowledged  her- 
self unworthy  of  having  been  the  instrument  of  God.  Should  she 
say  that  she  believed  herself  in  a  state  of  grace,  she  committed 
the  sin  of  the  Pharisee,  and  her  presumption  might  challenge 
the  chastisement  of  the  church.  So,  with  insidious  accent,  he 
launched  the  fatal  question  :  "  Joan,  do  you  believe  yourself  in 
a  state  of  grace  ?"  "  If  I  am  not,"  she  replied,  with  ej^igramma- 
tic  yet  Christian  simplicity,  "  God  bring  me  there  ;  if  I  am,  God 
keep  me  there !"      After  this  sublime  response,  an  adjournment 


JOANDARC.  109 

was  indispensable  ;  the  doctors  departed  in  amazement.  "  Fue- 
runt  multum  stupefacti,"  says  the  manuscript  record  of  the 
trial. 

On  other  occasions,  the  following  questions  and  answers 
passed  between  the  judges  and  their  prisoner.  "Was  Saint 
Michael  naked  when  he  appeared  to  you?"  "Do  you  think 
that  the  King  of  Heaven  has  no  glory  wherewith  to  clothe  his 
saints  !"  "  Why  was  your  standard  borne  to  the  church  of 
Rheims,  at  the  coronation,  more  than  those  of  the  other  cap- 
tains !"  "My  standard  had  been  in  the  fight,  it  was  but  just 
it  should  be  also  at  the  triumph."  "  Did  you  not  disobey  your 
father  and  mother  in  going  to  the  wars?"  "  God  bade  me  go  ; 
had  I  a  hundred  fathei's  and  mothers,  I  should  have  gone  all  the 
same."  "  Does  God  hate  the  English?"  "  Of  the  love  or  hate 
of  God  for  the  English,  or  of  what  He  does  with  their  souls,  I 
know  nothing :  but  I  know  that  the  English  will  be  driven  out 
of  France,  except  those  who  perish  in  it." 

A  month  had  now  passed ;  the  assessors  abandoned  all  hope 
of  convicting  Joan  of  sorcery.  She  was  firmly  persuaded  that 
she  had  been  visited  by  saints — a  persuasion  which  might  be  re- 
garded as  erroneous,  but  not  criminal  or  sinful.  But  the  very 
fervor  of  her  piety,  which  had  led  her  to  commune  directly  with 
God,  the  Saviour  and  the  saints,  and  thus  to  forego  and  reject 
the  mediation  of  the  church,  suggested  a  vulnerable  point  of 
attack.  She  might  easily  be  convicted  of  giving  a  preference  to 
her  own  inspiration  over  the  recognized  ecclesiastical  authorities. 
She  was  asked  if  she  would  acknowledge  the  prerogative  of 
the  church.  She  replied  that  Jesus  and  the  church  were  the 
same  thing  ;  that  she  had  been  sent  by  Jesus,  and  of  course 
recognized  his  authority.  She  was  then  told  that  there  was 
a  distinction  to  make ;  that  God,  the  saints  and  the  saved  consti- 
tuted the  Church  Triumphant  ;  and  that  the  Pope,  the  cardinals, 
bishops,  and  all  good  Christians  constituted  the  Church  Militant. 
"  WiU  you  submit  to  the  decision  of  this  church?"     "To  the 


no  JO  AN    D  AEC. 

Church  Victorious,"  she  replied,  "I  submit  myself,  my  works, 
and  all  that  I  have  done  or  am  to  do."  "  And  to  the  Church 
Militant?"  "I  decline  answering."  In  her  anguish,  Joan 
prayed  to  be  delivered  from  the  temptations  which  beset  her. 
"  Sweet  Lord,"  she  said,  "  I  pray  you  by  your  Holy  Passion  to 
tell  me  what  I  am  to  reply  to  these  churchmen.  I  know  what  to 
do  as  regards  my  life  ;  but  in  other  matters,  I  do  not  hear  the 
commands  of  my  guides."  Thus  harassed  and  tortured,  Joan's 
strength  gave  way  ;  she  fell  sick,  and  the  trial  was  interrupted. 
She  was  carried  back  to  her  dungeon,  and  left  to  languish  away 
her  wretched  days  in  chains,  solitude  and  darkness. 

Cauchon  had  intended  to  await  Joan's  recovery  to  obtain 
from  her  a  refusal  to  recognize  and  acknowledge  the  visible 
church,  which  he  well  knew  would  ruin  her.  But  as  the  poor 
victim  lay  consumed  with  fever  in  her  doleful  cell,  he  descended 
with  his  scribes  and  assessors  to  the  pitiable  scene  of  human 
anguish.  "  Would  she  submit  to  a  council?"  he  asked,  hoping 
and  expecting  a  negative  reply.  A  humane  assessor,  making 
known  to  Joan  his  sympathy  rather  by  his  tone  than  by  his 
words,  explained  to  her  that  a  council  was  a  general  assembly 
of  the  cluu'ch.  "  Very  well,  then,"  said  Joan,  "  I  submit." 
Cauchon,  enraged  at  this  concession,  which,  should  it  become 
public,  would  save  her  from  death,  furiously  forbade  the  scribe 
to  record  it  in  his  notes.  "  Alas  !"  she  said,  with  piteous  accent, 
"you  write  down  all  that  is  against  me,  and  will  not  wi'ite 
what  is  for  me !"  The  tender-hearted  ecclesiastic,  on  leaving 
the  cell,  was  accused  of  prompting  the  prisoner,  and  threatened 
with  a  cold  bath  in  the  Seine.  He  fled  that  night  from  Rouen, 
with  several  of  his  colleagues. 

The  English  were  in  mortal  fear  lest  Joan  should,  by  a 
natural  death,  escape  their  vengeance.  "The  king  would  not 
for  the  world  have  her  die,"  said  her  brutal  jailer;  "he  paid 
enough  for  her  to  have  the  right  to  burn  her.  Why  don't  the 
doctors  cure  her  ?"     Holy  Week  commenced  with  Palm  Sunday, 


J  0  AN    DA  RC.  Ill 

and  though  deprived  of  the  religious  consolations  to  which,  on 
this  Christian  anniversary,  she  had  long  been  accustomed,  she 
revived  sufficiently  to  attend  the  sessions  of  the  tribunal.  Com- 
manded to  exchange  her  male  garments  for  those  of  her  sex,  she 
consented,  on  condition  that  she  should  have  a  long  and  ample 
robe,  "like  the  modest  daughters  of  the  citizens  of  Rouen."  Her 
motive  in  retaining  her  military  attire,  and,  upon  abandoning  it, 
in  exacting  this  condition,  will  be  understood,  when  it  is  remem- 
bered that  three  soldiers  occupied  her  cell  with  her  at  night,  and 
that  they  made  no  secret  of  their  infamous  intentions,  when  the 
verdict  should  be  once  pronounced.  The  sessions  were  suspended 
on  Thursday  and  Friday,  and  Joan  spent  the  days  on  which  the 
faithful  throughout  Christendom  were  celebrating  the  Last  Sup- 
per and  the  Crucifixion,  in  the  black  depths  of  her  miserable 
dungeon.  All  this  she  bore  in  meek  submission  ;  but  when,  on 
Easter  Sunday,  the  joyous  melody  from  the  spires  and  belfries 
of  Rouen,  penetrating  her  prison-house,  announced  that  Christ 
had  arisen  from  the  dead  and  had  opened  the  portals  of  heaven, 
exhausted  nature  gave  way,  and  she  wept  bitter  and  scalding 
tears  as  she  found  herself  excluded  from  the  feast,  repulsed  from 
the  universal  communion — abandoned  by  the  church,  forgotten 
by  the  king,  and  deserted  by  God  and  man. 

A  series  of  articles  or  propositions,  artfully  digested  by 
Cauchon  from  the  replies  of  Joan  to  the  questions  addressed  her 
upon  her  trial,  was  sent  to  the  University  of  Paris  ;  its  opinion 
was  asked  upon  them,  and  upon  the  punishment  befitting  the 
crimes  of  which  the  prisoner  was  accused.  The  answer  arrived 
about  the  middle  of  May.  The  Faculty  of  Divinity  pronounced 
Joan  possessed  with  a  devil,  impious  towards  her  parents,  and 
steeped  in  Christian  blood.  The  Faculty  of  Law,  more  moderate 
in  its  views,  placed  two  restrictions  upon  its  sentence  of  culpa- 
bility :  first,  in  case  she  persisted  ;  and  second,  in  case  she  were 
unquestionably  in  her  right  mind.  Thus  fortified  and  sustained, 
the  more  fanatic  of  the  EugUsh  party  clamored  for  her  immediate 


112  JOAN    D  ARC. 

execution  ;  but,  in  the  meantime,  the  people  of  Rouen  had  begun 
to  regard  her  suflferings  with  a  certain  degree  of  sympathy,  and 
Cauchon  and  his  satellites  were  intimidated.  They  resolved  to 
make  one  last  attempt  to  draw  from  her  a  sufficient  confession 
to  disgrace  Charles  and  his  cause,  and  then  to  condemn  her  to 
imprisonment  for  life  ;  hoping  to  satisfy  the  English  by  a  retrac- 
tion, which  would,  so  to  speak,  uncrown  the  king ;  and  to  indulge 
the  people,  by  sparing  her  Hfe.  They  prepared  and  performed, 
on  Monday  in  Whitsun  week,  the  horrible  historical  comedy 
known  as  the  Parody  of  St.  Oucn. 

In  a  graveyard  behind  the  severe  monastic  church  of  that 
name,  which  is  still  to  be  seen  as  it  then  existed,  two  scaflblds 
were  erected.  Upon  one,  Cardinal  Winchester,  representing  the 
English  king,  the  two  judges,  Cauchon  and  Estivet,  and  thirty- 
three  assessors,  took  their  seats  ;  upon  the  other  were  the  ser- 
vants and  ministers  of  the  Inquisition  with  their  instruments  of 
torture  ;  notaries  and  scribes  to  take  down  the  confessions  wrung 
from  the  victim,  and  a  preacher,  instructed  to  deUver  an  address 
of  solemn  admonition.  Below  them,  in  the  midst  of  a  jDopulace 
appalled  by  the  hideous  spectacle,  stood  an  executioner,  ready 
with  his  cart  to  remove  the  body  when  the  torture  should  have 
done  its  work.  Joan,  in  male  attire,  chained  hand  and  foot,  and 
bound  by  an  iron  girdle  to  a  stake,  contemplated  the  scene  in 
silent  agony.  The  preacher,  Guillaume  Erard,  a  famous  doctor  of 
the  University,  commenced  the  ceremony  by  a  violent  apostrojihe 
to  Joan,  in  which  he  spared  neither  invective  nor  calumny.  She 
did  not  deign  to  reply  as  long  as  his  charges  concerned  her  alone. 
At  last,  he  attacked  the  king.  "Yea,  verily,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  finger  in  holy  denunciation,  "yea,  Jehanne,  not  only  thou, 
but  thou  and  thy  king  are  the  partisans  of  heresy  and  schism." 
Joan  turned  upon  him  with  startling  ferocity  :  "By  my  trust  in 
God,"  she  exclaimed,  her  eye,  but  now  dimmed  by  suffering, 
dilating  with  sudden  splendor,  "I  swear  that  the  king  is  the 
noblest  Christian  amongst  all  Christians  ;  he  loves  the  church 


JOANDARC.  113 

and  the  faith,  and  he  is  not  what  you  say  !"  "  Silence  !"  shouted 
Cauchon,  at  the  same  time  preparing  to  read  the  act  of  condem- 
nation. "I  am  wiUing  to  submit  to  the  Pope,"  said  Joan.  "The 
Pope  is  too  far  off,"  returned  the  bishop,  and  commenced  his 
reading. 

While  this  was  progressing,  Erard,  the  populace,  and  even 
the  executioner,  besought  Joan  to  have  pity  upon  herself,  and  to 
sign  the  form  of  retraction  which  was  already  drawn  up.  Cau- 
chon, deeming  her  retraction  of  more  value  to  the  English  than 
her  death,  stopped  his  reading,  in  the  hope  that  Joan  would 
yield.  Winchester's  secretary  angrily  accused  him  of  favoring 
her  escape  ;  the  consistent  churchman  retorted  by  giving  the 
lie  direct.  While  this  edifying  scene  was  taking  place  upon 
one  scaffold,  Joan  was  yielding  to  the  intercessions  of  those 
who  surrounded  her  upon  the  other.  "  Abjure,  or  you  will 
be  burned  at  the  stake,"  said  Erard.  "  Sign  the  retraction," 
urged  a  compassionate  layman  ;  "it  is  merely  a  confession  of 
your  own  ignorance  in  matters  of  doctrine,  not  a  disavowal  of 
your  cause  or  an  incrimination  of  your  own  sincerity."  "  Very 
well,  then,  I  will  sign  it."  The  cardinal's  secretary  drew  from 
his  sleeve  the  form  of  retraction.  It  contained  six  lines — that 
which  was  afterwards  published  as  her  act  of  apostasy  consisting 
of  as  many  pages.  He  offered  her  a  pen  ;  the  poor  girl  blushed 
with  shame,  for  the  hand  which  had  wielded  the  sword  of 
St.  Catherine  had  never  been  taught  to  write.  She  took  the 
pen  awkwardly  between  her  fingers,  and  traced,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  bystanders,  a  circular  figure,  adding,  of  her  own  will, 
a  cross,  the  emblem  of  her  martyrdom.  Her  sentence  was  then 
read  :  "  Jehanne,  we  condemn  you,  in  our  grace  and  moderation, 
to  pass  the  rest  of  your  life  in  prison,  lamenting  your  sins, 
eating  the  bread  of  suffering  and  drinking  the  water  of  anguish." 
She  accepted  the  woman's  garments  offered  her  in  token  of 
submission,  and  was  led  back  to  the  castle  amid  the  hootings 
of  the  soldiers,  disappointed  of  their  prey. 

15 


114  JOANDARC. 

The  English  vented  their  rage  upon  the  judges  and  assessors 
in  a  more  summary  manner.  They  had  come  to  see  a  sorceress 
burned,  and  were  ill  pleased  with  what  was  given  them  instead — 
a  strip  of  parchment  with  unmeaning  ink  scratches  at  the  foot 
of  it.  They  hurled  stones  and  dead  men's  bones  at  the  cardinal 
and  the  priests,  and  as  the  latter  descended  in  confusion  from  the 
scaffold,  held  their  drawn  swords  at  their  throats.  The  most 
moderate  among  them  contented  themselves  with  oaths  and 
menaces.  The  affrighted  doctors  escajjed,  saying  by  way  of 
conciliation :  "  Never  fear,  we  will  have  her  again,  in  one  way  or 
another." 

The  method  which  they  adopted  to  redeem  this  engagement, 
was  perhaps  the  most  infamous  in  a  long  catalogue  of  infamies. 
The  successes  of  Charles  VII.,  and  the  narrow  escape  of  Bedford 
between  Rouen  and  Paris,  exasperated  the  English  beyond 
measure.  There  was  no  hope  for  them,  they  said,  as  long  as 
breath  remained  in  Joan's  body  ;  chained  and  incarcerated  as 
she  was,  she  still  continued  her  pernicious  office,  and  by  her 
magical  arts,  sustained  the  royal  army  in  the  field.  On  the 
morning  of  Trinity  Sunday,  her  jailers,  acting  upon  instructions 
they  had  received,  removed  the  woman's  garments  which  she 
had  assumed  in  token  of  obedience,  and  emptying  her  former 
habiliments  out  of  a  bag,  told  her  to  put  them  on.  "Gentle- 
men," she  replied,  "you  know  I  am  forbidden  ;  no,  truly,  I  will 
not."  She  resisted  till  noon  ;  then,  compelled  to  rise,  and 
having  no  other  clothing,  she  dressed  herself  in  male  attire. 
Cauchon  was  immediately  summoned,  and,  upon  his  arrival, 
roundly  upbraided  her  for  this  forced  relapse.  Disdaining  to 
explain,  she  boldly  accepted  the  situation,  saying  that  as  long  as 
she  was  guarded  by  men,  she  would  wear  men's  garments  ;  but 
that  if  she  were  placed  in  a  prison  where  she  could  be  safe 
from  violence,  she  would  wear  women's  clothes,  and  do  every- 
thing which  the  church  could  desire. 

Cauchon,  at  last  convinced  that  nothing  but  the  life  of  Joan 


JOANDARC.  115 

Dare  could  satisfy  the  party  of  which  he  was  the  instrument, 
convoked  an  assembly  of  assessors,  priests,  and  legists,  admitting 
even  three  physicians  to  the  tribunal  thus  illegally  organized. 
Their  opinion  was  asked  and  given^ — to  the  effect  that  Joan 
be  brought  before  them,  and  the  act  of  recantation  again  read  to 
her.  This  Cauchon  thought  could  not  be  done  in  safety  to  them- 
selves, in  the  midst  of  the  agitation  which  reigned  in  the  army. 
A  sentence  of  death  at  the  stake  was  hastily  passed,  the  wily 
ecclesiastics,  who  formed  a  majority,  delegating  its  execution  to 
the  civil  authorities,  and  thus  with  the  cunning  of  Pontius  Pilate, 
washing  their  hands  of  the  responsibility. 

The  next  morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  a  confessor,  brother 
Martin  Ladvenu,  visited  Joan  in  her  cell,  and  announced  to 
her  that  she  was  that  day  to  pass  through  the  fiery  ordeal. 
Poor  Joan — whom  it  would  be  a  cruel  error  to  regard,  in  this 
crisis  of  her  calamities,  as  either  a  saint  or  an  envoy  from 
heaven,  or  as  anything  more  than  a  friendless  though  heroic 
girl — stretching  forth  her  pinioned  arms  and  throwing  back  her 
head  in  agony,  exclaimed,  "  Alas  !  alas  !  that  I  should  be  so  hor- 
ribly and  cruelly  treated,  that  my  body,  pure  and  unstained  by 
corruption,  should  be  consumed  and  reduced  to  ashes !  Oh !  I 
would  rather  be  beheaded  seven  times  over  than  be  burned  !  I 
appeal  to  God,  the  judge  of  all,  against  the  wrongs  and  outrages 
they  inflict  upon  me  !" 

When  her  calmness  returned,  she  confessed  herself  and  then 
asked  permission  to  commune.  The  priest  consulted  Cauchon 
upon  the  propriety  of  the  step,  and  was  instructed  to  take 
the  eucharist  to  the  prison,  but  in  secret  and  without  candles. 
Thus  the  consistent  bishop,  having  condemned  Joan  to  death  for 
heresy,  schism  and  backsliding,  accorded  her  all  that  the  church 
could  have  granted  her  had  she  been  in  full  communion !  It 
would  be  quite  useless  to  look  for  such  amazing  incoherence  any- 
where else  than  in  a  prince  of  the  church.  The  confessor  com- 
plained to  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  of  Rouen  that  he  had 


116  JO  A  N    D  AEC. 

been  ordered  to  mutilate  the  ceremony  and  perform  it  witliout 
light.  They  sent,  in  tacit  condemnation  of  the  bishop's  course, 
the  Host  and  a  number  of  tapers,  and  thus  enabled  the  wretched 
convict  to  partake  of  her  last  communion.  Noticing  Cauchon 
among  the  spectators,  Joan  said,  in  accents  of  mild  reproach, 
"  Bishop,  bishop,  I  die  at  your  hands  !"' 

It  was  now  nine  o'clock.  Joan  was  decently  dressed  in  female 
attire  and  placed  between  her  confessor  and  a  lay  officer  upon 
the  condemned  cart,  which  was  drawn  by  four  horses.  An  Au- 
gustine monk,  named  Isambart,  followed  her  on  foot  to  the 
place  of  execution,  praying  for  her  soul.  A  guard  of  eight  hun- 
dred EngUsh  soldiers,  armed  with  lances  and  drawn  swords, 
accompanied  tlie  dread  procession.  Joan  had  nev^er  expected 
death  tiU  now ;  she  had  never  realized  the  imminence  of  lier  dan- 
ger. She  might  reasonably  anticipate  a  rescue  by  the  king 
whom  she  had  so  zealously  served  ;  or  failing  human  aid,  she 
might  look  for  deliverance  to  the  saints  and  angels  whose  behests 
she  had  so  obediently  executed.  At  last,  despairing  of  either 
deliverance  or  miracle,  she  said,  wailing  rather  than  speaking, 
"  Oh  !  Rouen,  Rouen  !  must  I  then  die  here  !" 

The  scene  of  the  sacrifice  was  the  Fish  Market  of  Rouen.  In 
the  open  space  formed  by  the  intersection  of  several  streets,  three 
scaffolds  had  been  erected  ;  upon  one  was  the  episcopal  throne 
of  the  Enghsh  cardinal,  surrounded  by  seats  prepared  for  the 
lesser  ecclesiastical  dignitaries.  Upon  the  other  were  the  judges 
who  had  condemned  her,  the  baillie  or  civil  officer  who  was  to 
authorize  her  execution,  and  the  preacher  who  was  to  exhort  her 
before  her  death.  The  third,  built  of  stone  and  plaster,  support- 
ed the  funeral  pile.  This  was  of  enormous  and  unusual  height, 
and  formed  of  wood  carefully  dried.  There  was  a  motive  in  this 
lavish  expenditure  of  fuel — to  prevent  the  executioner  from 
abridging  the  torture  and  relieving  the  sufferer  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  do — though  by  what  means  is  not  stated — when  the 
dimensions  of  the  pyre  permitted,  sparing  them  the  flame.      The 


JOAN    DARC.  117 

spectators  of  Joan's  martyrdom  were  to  witness  a  complete  and 
consummated  agony.  The  horrible  rites  commenced  by  a  ser- 
mon delivered  by  Nicolas  Midy,  upon  the  following  text :  1  Cor. 
xii.  26  :  "And  when  one  member  suffers,  all  the  other  members 
suffer  with  it  ;"  the  application  being  that  the  church,  ailing  in 
aU  its  members  from  the  sinfulness  of  Joan,  was  about  to  cut  off 
the  offending  member,  as  the  only  means  of  cure.  He  finished 
with  the  formula,  "  Depart  in  peace,  the  church  can  no  longer 
defend  you,  and  abandons  you  to  the  secular  arm."  The  church, 
which  had  condemned  Joan  to  the  stake,  and  had  made  over  to 
the  civil  power  the  privilege  of  applying  the  flame,  hoped  to 
shuffle  off  the  responsibility  by  this  cruel  excuse. 

Joan  fell  upon  her  knees  and  clasped  her  hands.  She  in- 
voked in  pathetic  accents  the  compassion  and  the  prayers  of 
her  judges  and  tormentors,  freely  offering  them  her  pardon, 
and  imploring  Heaven  to  open  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  the 
bishop  and  the  cardinal,  her  two  arch-persecutors.  She 
called  upon  the  priests  around  her  to  say  one  mass  each  for 
the  repose  of  her  soul,  and  then,  apostrophizing  St.  Michael 
and  St.  Catherine,  entreated  them  not  to  desert  her  in  this 
awful  strait.  The  spectacle  was  more  than  many  of  those 
who  had  come  to  witness  it  could  endure  ;  the  sight  of  one  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  and,  notwithstanding  the  fulminations  of  the 
church,  so  innocent,  standing  vipon  the  verge  of  death  under  cir- 
stances  so  appalling,  and  yet  with  a  resignation  so  touching, 
moved  some  to  tears  and  others  to  flight.  Winchester  and 
Beauvais  wept,  several  of  the  assessors  fainted  outright,  whih? 
many  of  their  colleagues  hurried  from  the  scene  as  if  it  and  they 
had  been  accursed.  Joan  then  confessed  herself  aloud,  regret- 
ting  the  errors  and  presumptions — if  such  they  were — -of  which, 
in  all  sincerity,  she  might  have  been  guilty.  The  chronicles  of 
the  time,  without  asserting  that  she  repented  of  her  devotion  to 
a  regardless  country  and  an  ungrateful  king,  permit  such  a  con- 
clusion to  be  drawn.     In  this  fearful  moment,  she  must  have 


118  JO  AN    DA  RC. 

keenly  realized  at  what  price  glory  and  earthly  immortality  are 
won,  and  have  looked  back  with  sickening  heart  from  the  stake 
of  Rouen  to  the  cottage  and  pastures  of  Domremy. 

The  judges,  for  an  instant  moved  from  their  propriety,  quickly 
recovered  their  equanimity,  and  the  bishop  read  the  act  of  con- 
demnation. He  concluded  by  hypocritically  "praying  the  secular 
arm  of  justice  to  temper  its  sentence  and  spare  the  prisoner  both 
the  pain  of  death  and  the  mutilation  of  her  body."  If  this  was 
to  mislead  history  and  abuse  posterity,  it  was  labor  thrown  away, 
for  no  sentence  was  ever  passed  upon  Joan  by  a  temporal  tri- 
bunal. She  died  the  victim  and  sacrifice  of  the  church,  passing 
directly  from  the  hands  of  the  priests  to  those  of  the  executioner. 
Before  being  led  to  the  scaffold,  she  implored  the  bystanders 
to  give  her  a  cross,  the  external  symbol  of  the  divine  atonement 
and  of  human  redemption.  An  EngUsh  soldier  took  two  broken 
branches,  not  even  divested  of  their  bark,  and  tying  them  roughly 
together  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  handed  them  to  her.  She 
received  the  emblem  devoutly,  clasping  it  to  her  bosom,  even 
opening  her  garments  and  pressing  it  to  her  very  flesh.  But 
this  did  not  satisfy  her,  and  she  begged  hard  for  the  cross  belong- 
ing to  the  neighboring  church  of  St.  Sauveur.  Isambart  and 
an  attendant  named  Massieu  prevailed  upon  the  clerk  of  the 
parish  to  lend  it  to  them  for  this  pious  office.  These  delays 
exasperated  the  EngHsh  soldiers,  and  their  captains,  losing  all 
patience,  rudely  took  the  confessor  to  task,  saying,  "Hallo, 
priest,  are  you  going  to  make  us  dine  here !"  Resolved  to  wait 
no  longer  and  to  dispense  with  the  warrant  of  the  secular  officer, 
the  baillie,  they  ordered  two  sergeants  to  ascend  the  scaffold, 
to  tear  her  from  the  hands  of  the  priests  and  drag  her  to  the 
place  of  torment.  This  they  did  with  such  ferocious  zeal,  though 
she  offered  no  resistance,  that  many  of  the  assessors  who  had 
been  before  unmoved,  started  in  horror  from  their  seats,  unable 
to  see  the  rest. 

Joan  was  spared  no  humiliation.     The  ignominious  mitre  of 


JOAN    D  ARC.  119 

the  inquisition,  bearing  the  words  Heretique,  Relapse,  Apos- 
tate, Ydolastre,  was  placed  upon  her  head.  In  front  of  the 
pile  was  an  inscription  couched  in  words  setting  forth  the  crimes 
for  which  she  suffered  : 

"Jeanne,  menteresse,  pernicieuse,  abuseresse  du  peuple, 
devineresse,  superstitieuse,  blasphemeresse  de  Dieu,  mal  creant 

DE  LA  LOY  DE  J^STJS-ChRIST,  VANTERESSE,  YDOLASTRE,  CRUELLE, 

dissolue,  invocatrice  de  diables,  schismatique  et  heri-'tique." 

She  was  bound  to  the  fatal  stake,  and  the  executioner  ap- 
plied the  torch.  She  saw  the  fire  and  shuddered  in  all  her  limbs. 
"  Ah,  Rouen,  Rouen,"  she  said,  "  I  fear  thou  wilt  one  day  suffer 
for  my  death!"  The  flames  ascended.  Ladvenu  was  still  at 
Joan's  side.  The  heroic  girl,  forgetting  her  own  peril  in  her 
fears  for  her  confessor's  safety,  implored  him  to  depart.  She 
besought  him  to  hold  the  cross  on  high  that  she  might  see  it 
through  the  flames,  and  to  exhort  her,  with  holy  words,  till 
death  came  to  her  relief.  The  fire  glowed  amid  the  crackling 
logs,  and  the  spreading  sheets  of  flame  at  last  seized  upon  the 
garments  of  the  victim.  "  Water  !  water !"  she  cried,  in  the  last 
agony  of  nature.  The  blaze  roared  and  wrapped  itself  in  hissing 
folds  about  her.  Uttering  the  single  word  Jesus,  her  head 
dropped  upon  her  shoulders.  The  chroniclers  of  the  period 
express  the  hope  and  belief,  in  which  the  sympathetic  reader 
will  be  glad  to  join,  that  heaven,  in  its  mercy,  recalled  the  spirit 
of  the  martyr  before  it  was  divorced  by  fire. 

The  heart  and  viscera  of  Joan  Dare  long  resisted  the  destruc- 
tive action  of  the  flames,  although  the  executioner  heaped  sulphur 
and  charcoal  upon  them,  and  drenched  the  inflammable  mass 
with  rivers  of  oil.  The  English  cardinal  ordered  her  uncon- 
sumed  remains  to  be  swept  into  the  Seine,  in  order  that  no 
pious  hand  might  ever  give  them  Christian  burial,  and  that  no 
busy  antiquary  might  collect  for  future  worship  the  charred 
bones  and  scattered  ashes  of  the  martyr. 

The  horrible  spectacle  was  not  witnessed  without  emotion  by 


120  JOAN    DARC. 

the  priests  or  the  soldiers.  An  EngUsh  archer  who  had  sworn 
that  he  would  throw  a  fagot  into  the  blaze,  fainted  as  he  did  so, 
and  was  removed  from  the  ground.  On  recovering  his  senses  he 
averred  that  he  had  seen  a  white  pigeon  fly  out  of  the  flames. 
Others  had  seen  the  name  of  Jesus  written  in  the  air.  Others 
repented  and  acknowledged  Christ.  One  of  the  assessors  who 
had  been  the  most  zealous  in  condemning  Joan,  exclaimed, 
"  Would  to  God  that  my  soul  were  where  I  firmly  believe  hers 
to  be !"  Jean  Tressart,  one  of  the  English  king's  secretaries, 
left  the  place  of  execution  violently  agitated,  exclaiming,  "We 
are  lost  and  undone  ;  we  have  burned  a  saint."  The  executioner 
went  the  same  evening  to  seek  out  Isambart,  and  after  confes- 
sion, asked  in  trembling  accents,  "Will  God  ever  forgive  me?" 

With  the  gradual  dispersion  of  the  English,  and  the  extension 
and  development  of  a  French  national  sentiment,  the  party  of 
Joan  increased  till  it  embraced  the  whole  country,  and  those  who 
had  participated  in  her  condemnation  were  pointed  out  with  scorn 
and  reprobation.  The  chronicles  of  the  period  mention  from 
time  to  time  the  violent  or  miserable  deaths  of  those  who  had 
persecuted  her.  A  relentless  fate  seemed  to  pursue  them  to  the 
grave,  and  in  many  cases,  beyond  it.  Cauchon  died  suddenly 
while  under  the  hands  of  his  barber  ;  his  remains,  excommuni- 
cated by  Pope  Calixtus  III.,  were  disinterred  some  years  after- 
wards and  thrown  into  the  public  streets  ;  the  vice-inquisitor, 
Jean  le  Maistre,  disappeared  mysteriously  from  off  the  face  of 
the  earth  ;  Joseph  d'Estivet,  associate  judge  with  Cauchon,  was 
found  dead  upon  a  dunghill  in  the  suburbs  of  Rouen ;  Loyseleur 
was  struck  with  apoplexy  in  a  church  at  Basle  ;  Nicolas  Midy, 
the  preacher  at  the  stake,  perished  a  shunned  and  odious  leper  ; 
and  Henry  VI.,  in  whose  name  and  behalf  Joan  Dare  was  slain, 
was  twice  dethroned,  and  died  in  the  Tower  of  London. 

In  1456,  the  war,  which  had  lasted  one  hundred  and  fifteen 
years,  was  brought  to  a  close  by  the  expulsion  of  the  English 
army.     Charles  VII.  now  made  a  tardy  reparation  for  the  royal 


J  0  AN    D  ARC.  121 

indiiFerence  he  had  manifested  to  the  fate  of  his  dehverer.  At  the 
suit  of  Joan's  aged  mother  and  her  two  surviving  brothers,  Jacques 
and  Pierre,  he  ordered  a  second  trial  to  be  held,  for  the  purpose 
of  rehabilitating  her  memory  and  proclaiming  her  innocence. 
The  solemn  ceremony  took  place  before  a  bench  of  bishops,  and 
under  the  authority  of  Pope  Oalixtus  III.  By  a  happy  chance, 
though  twenty-five  years  had  elapsed  since  her  death,  nearly 
all  whose  testimony  would  be  valuable  in  establishing  her  in- 
nocence and  reversing  the  former  sentence,  had  been  spared 
to  give  it : — Pasquerel,  her  ahnoner,  now  far  advanced  in  years ; 
Dunois,  the  fire  of  his  eye  somewhat  quenched  by  age  ;  Dau- 
lon,  her  equerry  and  faithful  guardian ;  Jean  de  Metz  and 
Poulengy,  her  companions-in-arms  ;  Martin  Ladvenu,  her  con- 
fessor at  the  stake  ;  Isambart,  who  heard  her  call  upon  Jesus 
in  the  flames  ;  Massieu,  who  brought  her  the  cross  from  the 
church  of  St.  Sauveur,  and  a  numerous  throng  of  her  early 
friends  in  the  village  where  she  was  born. 

From  this  evidence — against  which  the  partisans  of  the 
English  have  never  been  able  to  say  aught,  except  that  it  was 
somewhat  moulded  and  influenced  by  the  reaction  of  the  pe- 
riod— we  have  derived  a  large  portion  of  the  preceding  details, 
and  have,  therefore,  no  occasion  to  repeat  it  here.  The  inno- 
cence of  the  Pucelle  of  the  crimes  attributed  to  her — impiety, 
sorcery,  idolatry — was  solemnly  proclaimed  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Rouen  on  the  7th  of  July.  The  clergy  went  in  procession 
to  the  scenes  of  the  Parody  and  of  the  Execution,  and  per- 
formed an  expiatory  service  upon  the  spots  profaned  by  those 
two  ecclesiastical  crimes. 

The  church,  the  state,  literature  and  the  fine  arts  have  vied 
with  each  other  in  doing  honor  to  the  memory  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans.  The  present  generation  has  witnessed  the  purchase  of 
Joan's  cottage — such  as  it  now  exists,  enlarged  and,  as  it  were, 
lost  in  the  more  modern  constructions  which  inclose  it — by  the 
French   government,  for   the  purposes  of  a   girls'  school ;    the 

16 


122  JOAN    DARC. 

erection  of  a  statue,  due  to  the  chisel  of  a  king's  daughter,  upon 
the  grand  staircase  of  the  HStel  de  Ville  at  Orleans  ;  and  in  1855, 
the  inauguration,  in  the  Place  du  Martroi,  in  the  same  city,  of  an 
admirable  equestrian  statue  of  the  warrior  saint.  The  festivities 
on  this  occasion  lasted  four  days  ;  music,  science,  sculpture,  elo- 
quence, architecture,  were  pressed  into  the  grateful  service. 
The  historical  edifices  in  which  the  city  abounds  were  brilliantly 
decorated  with  the  trappings  and  hangings  pecuhar  to  the  fif- 
teenth century.  The  violin  of  Sivori  was  called  upon  to  illustrate, 
in  harmonious  measure,  the  career  of  the  heroine,  from  the  green 
fields  of  Domr^my  to  the  red  ordeal  at  Rouen.  The  beUs  of  the 
Tourelles  j^ealed  forth,  at  early  dawn,  the  same  chimes  with 
which,  in  1429,  they  had  announced  the  deliverance  of  the  city. 
At  night,  a  Historical  Cavalcade,  armed  and  equipped  in  imita- 
tion of  Joan's  victorious  troops,  made  the  round  of  the  city,  fol- 
lowing the  route  taken  by  her  four  hundred  and  twenty-six 
years  before.  The  illustrious  knights  who  had  fought  by  her 
side  were  represented  by  their  descendants — Dunois,  Daulon, 
Jean  Debrosses,  Lahire.  A  grand  mass  was  performed,  not  by 
an  ecclesiastical  prince,  but  by  the  pastor  of  a  village  church,  the 
curate  of  Domr^my.  On  the  fourth  day,  the  statue  was  unveiled 
and  dehvered  to  the  people,  amid  the  din  of  voices,  the  roaring 
of  cannon,  and  the  clamor  of  bells. 

We  have  sought  to  narrate  the  story  and  interpret  the  life 
of  Joan  Dare  in  a  manner  to  call  for  little  elucidation  beyond 
that  which  the  mind  of  the  reader  will  readily  suggest.  The  fact 
cannot  be  concealed,  that  in  France  the  prevailing  tone  of  opin- 
ion, and  the  whole  influence  of  the  church  tend  to  establish 
the  beUef  that  she  was  not  only  a  beatified  saint,  but  a  commis- 
sioned envoy.  The  annual  panegyrics  pronounced  at  Orleans 
invariably  proceed  upon  the  ground  that  her  character  is  insus- 
ceptible of  subdivision,  and  that  she  was  either — in  the  broadest 
sense  of  those  terms — a  saint  or  a  charlatan.  Between  the  two 
conclusions  the  patriot  and  the  CathoUc  can  hardly  hesitate,  and 


JOANDARC.  123 

the  mass  of  the  French  nation  have  accepted  a  theory  which, 
while  it  gratifies  their  pride  and  flatters  their  sentiment  of  vene- 
ration, grants  them  the  satisfaction  of  a  mystery  accounted  for, 
and  spares  them  the  discomfort  of  a  marvel  unexplained.  His- 
tory, however,  demands  a  more  conscientious  and  disinterested 
verdict  than  priests  and  panegyrists  can  be  expected  to  render, 
and  it  is  fortunate  that  among  the  students  who  have  made  Joan 
Dare  their  theme,  there  are  many  who  are  neither  churchmen 
nor  even  Catholics.  Neither  Lamartine,  nor  Michelet,  nor  Henri 
Martin,  accept  for  an  instant  the  opinion  which  clothes  Joan 
Dare  in  the  robes  of  the  celestial  emissary  ;  and  they  refuse  to 
compromise  the  dignity  of  history  by  the  puerilities  of  the  popu- 
lar imagination.  That  her  marvellous  career  may  be  satisfacto- 
rily interpreted  without  recourse  to  the  theory  of  a  direct  divine 
intex'position,  a  few  words  will  suffice  to  show. 

Joan  Dare  possessed  in  an  extraordinary  degree  three 
exceptional  qualities — Love  of  Country,  Faith,  Enthusiasm. 
The  sentiment  of  patriotism  was  active  and  vital  in  her  to  a 
degree  never  before  witnessed  in  the  land  which  gave  her 
birth.  France  was  tiU  then  an  assemblage  of  provinces,  a  vast 
chaos  of  fiefs,  a  confused  federation  of  vassals,  independent  of 
each  other  and  rivals  of  the  crown  ;  in  Joan's  heart  beat  the 
first  pulsation  which  throbbed  for  all  alike,  embracing  Burgun- 
dians,  Proven^aux,  Bretons,  in  one  common  brotherhood.  Love 
of  country  lay  at  the  base  of  her  character,  and  was  the  main- 
spring of  the  delicate  but  sturdy  mechanism  of  her  being.  It 
was,  in  short,  the  motive  of  her  life,  and  it  urged  and  spurred 
her  to  action  with  an  intensity  which,  from  the  fact  that  it 
was  unusual,  has  seemed  to  many  unnatural.  StiU,  though  Joan 
possessed  the  incentive,  she  would  have  been  powerless  without 
the  machinery  ;  fortunately  she  had  the  means  as  well  as  the 
motive  ;  and  this  she  found  in  her  Faith — her  belief  in  her 
own  inspiration,  whether  she  were  inspired  or  not.  The  faith  of 
Joan  Dare  was  more  than  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed,  and  when 


124  JOAN    DARC. 

she  controlled  and  wielded  men,  when  she  resuscitated  and 
saved  an  empire,  she  did  more  than  remove  mountains  or  com- 
mand sycamines  to  be  planted  in  the  sea. 

That  Joan  Dare  should  have  been  deceived  by  her  imagina- 
tion, and  should  have  been  herself  a  convert  to  her  own  illu- 
sions, is  not  to  be  marvelled  at.  Stronger  heads  than  hers  have 
been  the  dupes  of  similar  conscientious  impostures.  Numa 
Pompilius  listened  to  the  counsels  of  an  imaginary  divinity  whom 
he  called  Egeria,  but  who  was  nothing  more  than  a  personifica- 
tion of  his  own  natural  inspiration.  Socrates  heard  and  obeyed 
the  monitions  of  an  inward  voice  which  he  was  accustomed  to  re- 
gard and  to  consult  as  his  familiar  genius.  Joan  Dare  was  simi- 
larly wrought  upon,  with  the  diflFerence  that  her  impressions 
were  more  violent  and  the  forms  assumed  by  her  fancy  more  tan- 
gible. Passionately  preoccupied  with  one  idea,  endowed  with 
an  imagination  of  extreme  activity,  called  upon  to  reaUze  keenly 
the  calamities  of  her  country,  educated  to  regard  her  persecuted 
king  as  the  lieutenant  and  vicegerent  of  God  on  eai'th,  inhabiting 
a  spot  picturesque  in  its  scenery  and  romantic  in  its  legends,  ac- 
customed from  childhood  to  tread  and  play  upon  fairy  ground, 
taught  by  the  annual  exorcisms  of  the  curate  to  look  upon 
the  dryads  and  watersprites  as  very  substantial  and  authentic  be- 
ings, and,  above  all,  haunted  by  the  prediction  of  the  enchanter, 
and  thinking  and  reasoning  herself  into  the  belief  that  she  was 
the  commissioned  and  foreordained  heroine  of  the  prophecy — it 
is  not  extraordinary,  or  rather,  it  is  not  impossible,  that  she 
should  have  abandoned  herself  to  revery  and  day-dreams,  that  in 
her  moments  of  ecstasy  she  should  have  been  beset  by  visions 
and  have  held  conversations  with  the  saints.  "With  their  several 
attributes  and  positions  in  glory  her  religious  habits  and  associa- 
tions had  rendered  her  famihar,  and  the  language  which  she 
ascribed  to  each  was  such  as  the  object  of  it  might  have  em- 
ployed without  discredit.  It  is  not  wonderful,  either,  that 
she  should  have  interpreted  these  creations  of  her  fancy  as  direct 


JOAN    DAKC.  125 

communications  from  on  high.  There  is  nothing  marvellous  in  a 
dream,  nor  is  it  marvellous  for  pei'sons  in  a  certain  mental  con- 
dition to  dream  awake  ;  and  there  is  nothing  which  should 
astonish  a  reader  properly  informed  of  the  character  and  educa- 
tion of  Joan  Dare,  in  the  construction  which  she  placed  upon  her 
waking  dreams.  The  fact  once  conceded  that,  though  claiming 
the  estate  of  a  divine  envoy,  she  was  self-appointed  and  commis- 
sioned, there  is  nothing  in  her  subsequent  career  which  is  not 
equally  susceptible  of  explanation.  Prompted  by  patriotism, 
endowed  and  qualified  by  faith,  sustained  by  enthusiasm,  she 
was  still  marvellously  aided  by  the  credulity  of  the  age  in  which 
she  lived.  Upon  this  subject,  a  few  words  will  not  be  out  of 
place. 

Like  all  characters  of  spontaneous  growth,  springing  from 
the  emergencies  or  exigencies  of  the  moment,  Joan  Dare  was  in 
j)erfect  harmony  with  the  circumstances  under  which  she  was  to 
act.  She  would  have  been  powerless  in  a  material  and  incredu- 
lous age,  but  in  the  fifteenth  century  she  was  in  unison  with  the 
fashion  of  men's  minds  and  their  habits  of  thought.  Many  of  her 
battles  were  won,  and  certainly  the  deliverance  of  Orleans  was  ef- 
fected— not  by  the  vigor  of  her  arm  nor  by  the  skill  of  her  tactics 
— but  by  the  paralyzing  effect  upon  the  enemy  of  their  belief  in 
her  divinity.  The  English  saw  the  saints  in  the  air  descending 
to  battle  ;  they  heard  the  emissary  of  heaven,  a  girl  in  her  teens 
bearing  the  banner  of  the  cross,  thundering  at  their  very  gates. 
It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  they  often  permitted  the  strug- 
gle to  go  by  default,  and  refused  to  measure  swords  with  the  re- 
doubtable St.  Michael.  This  was  not  a  belief  forced  upon  them 
in  moments  of  panic  or  at  the  ghostly  hour  of  midnight,  and 
abandoned  as  childish  upon  the  return  of  reason  or  with  the 
rising  of  the  sun.  The  English  were  consistent  throughout ; 
while  Joan  was  their  enemy,  she  was  a  saint  and  a  leader  of 
saints  ;  when  she  became  their  captive,  she  was  a  sorceress  and 
in  league  with  the  fiend.      The  character  of  her  mission  and  the 


126  J  0  AN    D  ARC. 

source  of  her  power  changed  in  their  eyes,  but  not  their  belief  in 
the  existence  of  the  power  itself.  They  had  dreaded  her  sanc- 
tity while  free,  and  they  exorcised  her  as  a  witch  when  she  fell 
into  their  hands.  That  her  influence  over  them  was  that  of  a 
person  acknowledged  to  possess  supernatural  gifts,  the  whole 
history  of  her  life  and  times  abundantly  shows. 

There  are  no  events  in  her  career  which  positively  require 
the  intervention  of  a  supernatural  explanation,  or  must  else 
be  left  unexplained.  It  has  been  said  that  her  recognition  of  the 
dauphin  at  Chinon  could  hardly  be  characterized  as  an  exercise  of 
perspicacity.  Still  it  need  not  be  regarded  as  miraculous.  The 
mind,  in  certain  phases,  may,  and  often  does,  become  possessed 
of  a  sense  finer  than  any  sense  of  the  material  body^the  sense 
of  instinct ;  Joan  and  the  king  were  situated  towards  each 
other  in  a  manner  calculated  to  awaken  in  her  this  dormant 
sense.  She,  inspired,  chosen  and  sent,  as  she  believed,  to  deh- 
ver  the  country  and  crown  the  king  ;  he,  dauphin  by  the  grace 
God,  the  inheritor  of  a  divine  right,  heir  to  a  consecrated  ma- 
jesty— the  two  in  presence,  the  king  disguised  and  the  envoy 
told  to  seek.  She  who  had  seen  saints  could  not  fail  to  recog- 
nize the  king.  The  marvel  would  have  been  had  she  not  re- 
cognized him.  She  became  clairvoyant  at  a  moment  when  it 
would  have  been  weakness  to  remain  blind.  Fatal  it  would 
have  been,  as  well,  for  had  she  seen  with  the  eyes  of  sense 
merely,  her  epopee  would  never  have  been  enacted  and  her 
story  never  told. 

Were  history  written  by  women  and  not  by  men — with 
whatever  shortcomings  we  should  have  to  reproach  the  historians 
— Joan  Dare,  at  least,  would  have  been  better  understood  and 
her  life  and  mission  more  intelligibly  interpreted.  We  should 
have  been  reminded  that  patriotism  influences  men  in  one 
manner  and  women  in  another  ;  that  it  acts  through  different 
channels  and  touches  different  chords,  according  to  the  sex 
of  those  upon  whom  it  operates.      Men  rise   to   lofty  heights 


J  0  AN    D  AEG.  127 

in  virtue,  heroism,  moral  grandeur  ;  women  in  enthusiasm,  fa- 
naticism, inspiration.  Love  of  country  produces  among  men, 
Cincinnatus,  Alfred,  Washington — pure,  unselfish,  sjrinmetrical ; 
among  women,  Vittoria  Colonna,  Madame  Roland,  Charlotte 
Corday,  Joan  Dare — romantic,  devoted,  marvellous.  Men  are 
governed  by  the  intellect  and  sway  their  fellow-men  by  reason  ; 
women  are  wrought  upon  through  the  imagination  and  produce 
their  effects  by  the  heart  and  the  affections.  With  all  her  patri- 
otism, Joan  Dare  would  have  been  powerless,  had  she  been  con- 
demned to  employ,  to  save  France,  the  means  and  resources 
which,  at  a  later  period,  saved  America.  Women  have  a  fibre 
more  in  the  heart  and  a  cell  less  in  the  brain  than  men  ;  they 
cannot,  therefore,  be  measured  by  the  same  standard  nor 
weighed  in  the  same  balance. 

Let  us  claim  Joan  Dare  as  a  mortal,  and  let  us  judge  her 
as  a  woman.  Though  doubtless,  in  one  sense,  the  most  remark- 
able of  created  beings,  she  was  still  human,  and  of  the  race  of 
Adam.  The  calendar  of  Rome  is  rich  and  full  to  overflowing ; 
the  saints  can  spare  St.  Joan,  mankind  cannot  spare  Joan  Dare. 


ISABELLA 


Isabella,  afterwards  Queen  of  Spain,  was  born  at  Madrigal 
in  the  kingdom  of  Castile,  on  the  22d  of  April,  1451.  Her 
father,  John  II.,  died  three  years  later,  after  a  long  and 
inglorious  reign,  lamenting  that  he  had  not  been  born  beneath 
a  roof  of  thatch,  instead  of  under  the  dome  of  a  palace.  His 
eldest  son,  Henry  TV.,  succeeded  to  the  throne,  and  Isabella 
retired,  with  her  mother,  to  the  village  of  Aravelo,  where  she 
lived  for  many  years  in  tranquil  obscurity.  During  her  early 
youth,  she  was  repeatedly  sought  in  marriage,  and  one  of  her 
first  suitors,  though  unsuccessful  then,  was  he  for  whom  fate 
ultimately  reserved  her  hand — Ferdinand  of  Aragon.  Twice 
betrothed  and  twice  released,  she  was  next  offered  to  a  man 
known  to  be  stained  with  almost  every  crime — Don  Pedro  Giron, 
grand-master  of  the  order  of  Calatrava,  her  selfish  brother  thus 
hoping  to  conciliate  a  powerful  and  troublesome  family.  The 
Pope  released  Don  Pedro  from  his  vow  of  celibacy,  and  mag- 
nificent preparations  were  made  for  the  ceremony. 

Isabella,  having  at  this  period  attained  her  sixteenth  year, 
refused  to  consent  to  the  sacrifice.  Her  brother  assured  her 
that  if,  on  the  appointed  day,  she  proved  refractory,  he  would 
adopt  compulsory  measures.     Isabella,  indignant  and  resolved, 

^ij  128 


130  ISABELLA. 

withdrew  to  her  room,  where  she  abstained  from  food  and  sleep, 
and  implored  Heaven,  upon  her  knees,  to  take  her  life  rather 
than  subject  her  to  this  ignominy.  Her  bosom-friend,  Beatriz 
de  Bobadilla,  whose  reliance  seemed  to  be  more  strongly  fixed 
on  material  agencies,  exclaimed,  drawing  a  knife  from  her 
bosom,  "God  will  not  permit  it,  neither  will  I!"  She  swore 
she  would  plunge  the  weapon  into  Don  Pedro's  heart,  if  he 
persisted  in  his  intention.  The  valiant  lady  was  spared  the 
necessity  of  executing  her  threat,  by  the  convenient  death  of  the 
grand-master,  while  on  his  way  to  Madrid,  where  the  ceremony 
was  to  be  performed. 

At  this  period,  a  civil  war  broke  out  in  Castile  between  the 
partisans  of  the  king  and  the  disaffected  nobles,  the  latter 
desiring  to  dethrone  Henry  and  give  the  crown  to  his  half- 
brother  Alfonzo.  The  question  was  referred  to  the  issue  of 
a  battle,  to  be  fought  on  the  plains  of  Olmedo.  The  contest 
lasted  three  hours,  with  no  decisive  result,  except  that  it  kindled 
a  taste  for  carnage,  and  plunged  the  whole  country  into  the 
horrors  of  civil  war.  Churches  became  barracks,  and  palaces 
castles  ;  pitched  battles  were  fought  in  every  street,  and  blood 
and  conflagration  spread  over  the  kingdom.  The  death  of 
Alfonzo,  by  poison  or  the  plague,  totally  disconcerted  the 
schemes  of  the  allied  nobles.  They  could  hardly  hope  to  con- 
tinue their  league  without  a  leader,  and  if  it  were  dissolved, 
they  would  be  exposed  to  Henry's  vengeance.  They  cast  their 
eyes  on  Isabella,  the  own  sister  of  Alfonzo,  now  in  her  seven- 
teenth year,  and  living,  since  her  brother's  death,  in  a  monastery 
at  Arvila.  She  was  here  visited  by  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
the  envoy  of  the  confederates,  and  besought  by  him  to  assume 
the  authority  lately  held  by  Alfonzo,  and  to  allow  herself  to 
be  proclaimed  Queen  of  Castile.  After  due  reflection,  she 
refused,  saying  that  "while  her  brother  lived,  none  other  had 
a  right  to  the  crown  ;  that  the  country  had  been  divided  long 
enough  under  the  rule  of  two  contending  mouarchs  ;  and  that 


ISABELLA  131 

the  death  of  Alfonzo  might,  perhaps,  be  interpreted  into  an 
indication  from  Heaven  of  its  disapprobation  of  their  cause." 
She  professed  herself  willing  and  anxious,  however,  to  effect  a 
reconciliation  between  the  king  and  the  confederates,  and  such  a 
reconciliation  was  ultimately  negotiated,  the  conditions  being 
that  Henry  should  grant  an  amnesty  for  past  offences  ;  that  he 
should  repudiate  his  licentious  queen  and  disinherit  his  daughter ; 
that  the  principalities  of  the  Asturies  should  be  settled  upon 
Isabella,  who  should  then  be  formally  recognized  as  heiress  to 
the  crowns  of  Castile  and  Leon.  A  formal  interview  took  place 
between  Henry  and  Isabella,  in  ratification  of  this  agreement ; 
the  king  kissed  his  sister  affectionately,  and  solemnly  declared 
her  his  successor.  The  cortes  were  convened  in  forty  days  and 
their  sanction  was  unanimously  conferred  upon  her  pretensions 
to  the  crown. 

The  number  of  Isabella's  suitors  now  very  naturally  increased. 
The  King  of  Portugal  sought  her  in  marriage  for  himself,  while 
the  King  of  France,  Louis  XL,  asked  her  for  his  brother. 
Edward  IV.  of  England  solicited  her  hand,  but  whether  for 
himself  or  his  brother  Gloster,  afterwards  Richard  III.,  the 
chronicles  of  the  time  do  not  clearly  state.  Ferdinand  of 
Aragon,  heir  to  the  throne  of  that  kingdom,  was  the  favored 
aspirant.  Isabella  easily  justified  in  her  own  mind  the  propriety 
of  such  a  choice,  by  dwelling  upon  the  advantages  of  a  union 
which  should  unite  two  contiguous  and  homogeneous  nations. 
While  separated,  they  were  powerless  ;  combined,  they  might 
claim  a  part,  perhaps  a  j^reponderance,  in  the  balance  of  na- 
tions. Ferdinand  was  in  his  early  prime,  and,  in  the  stining 
events  amid  which  he  had  passed  his  youth,  had  displayed  valor 
and  discretion. 

A  number  of  the  dissatisfied  nobles  who  had  espoused  the 
cause  of  Henry's  disinherited  daughter,  Joanna,  now  resolutely 
attempted  to  baffle  Isabella's  plans.  The  king  even  was  induced 
to  listen  to  their  intrigues.     Isabella,  indignant  at  his  duplicity, 


132  ISABELLA. 

resolved  to  conclude  her  marriage  with  Ferdinand  without  con- 
sulting her  brother  further.  The  contract  was  signed  by 
Ferdinand  on  the  7th  of  January,  1469.  He  engaged  to  respect 
the  laws  and  usages  of  Castile  ;  to  reside  in  that  kingdom ;  to 
alienate  no  property  belonging  to  the  crown  ;  to  prosecute  the 
war  against  the  Moors,  and  to  respect  King  Henry.  In  the  mean- 
time, Isabella's  actions  were  closely  watched  by  the  spies  of  the 
adverse  party.  Her  very  household  servants  were  corrupted, 
and  her  slightest  movements  reported.  The  king,  finding  the 
preparations  for  the  wedding  so  far  advanced,  sent  a  force  to 
Madrigal  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  the  person  of  his  sister,  but, 
fortunately,  their  arrival  was  anticipated  by  a  forced  march  of 
cavalry  to  her  rehef,  under  the  orders  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Toledo.  Isabella  was  hurried  off  to  the  friendly  city  of  VaUa- 
dohd,  where  she  was  to  await  the  coming  of  the  bridegroom. 

Ferdinand,  however,  did  not,  at  that  moment,  possess  the 
means  of  effecting  a  hostile  entrance  into  Castile,  his  father  being 
engaged  in  a  harassing  and  exhausting  war  with  a  rebellious 
province.  He  resolved  to  make  the  adventurous  attempt  in 
disguise.  He  set  out,  accompanied  by  half  a  dozen  attendants  ; 
they  travelled,  principally  by  night,  in  the  garb  of  merchants  ; 
the  prince  waited  upon  them  at  table,  and,  at  the  halting  places, 
fed  and  watered  the  mules.'  After  a  journey  of  forty-eight 
hours,  they  arrived  at  a  castle,  the  first  point  upon  the  route 
occupied  by  troops  in  Isal  ella's  interest.  Thus  protected  and 
reinforced,  Ferdinand  easily  reached  Duefias,  in  the  kingdom 
of  Leon,  where  he  was  met  by  throngs  of  nobles  and  soldiers, 
assembled  to  espouse  his  cause  and  render  homage  to  his  rank. 

The  following  description  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  at  the 
epoch  of  this  interview,  we  quote  from  Mr.  Prescott :  ' '  Ferdinand 
was  at  this  time  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  age.  His  com- 
plexion was  fair,  though  somewhat  bronzed  by  constant  exposure 
to  the  sun  ;  his  eye  quick  and  cheerful  ;  his  forehead  ample  and 
approaching  to  baldness.     His  muscular  and  well-proportioned 


ISABELLA.  133 

frame  was  invigorated  by  the  toils  of  war,  and  by  the  chivakous 
exercises  in  which  he  deliglited.  He  was  one  of  the  best  horse- 
men in  his  court,  and  excelled  in  field-sports  of  every  kind.  His 
voice  was  somewhat  sharp,  but  he  possessed  a  fluent  eloquence, 
and  when  he  had  a  point  to  carry,  his  address  was  courteous  and 
even  insinuating.  He  secured  his  health  by  extreme  temperance 
in  his  diet,  and  by  such  habits  of  activity  that  it  was  said  he 
seemed  to  find  repose  in  business.  Isabella  was  a  year  older 
than  her  lover.  In  stature  she  was  somewhat  above  the  middle 
size.  Her  complexion  was  fair  ;  her  hair  of  a  bright  chestnut 
color,  inclining  to  red  ;  and  her  mild,  blue  eye  beamed  with 
intelligence  and  sensibility.  She  was  exceedingly  beautiful ; 
'  the  handsomest  lady,'  says  one  of  her  household,  '  whom  I  ever 
beheld,  and  the  most  gracious  in  her  manners.'  The  portrait, 
still  existing  of  her  in  the  royal  palace,  is  conspicuous  for  an 
open  symmetry  of  features,  indicative  of  the  natural  serenity  of 
temper  and  that  beautiful  harmony  of  intellectual  and  moral 
qualities  which  auost  distinguished  her.  She  was  dignified  in 
her  demeanor,  and  modest  even  to  a  degree  of  reserve.  She 
spoke  the  Castilian  language  with  more  than  usual  elegance  ; 
and  early  imbibed  a  relish  for  letters,  in  which  she  was  superior 
to  Ferdinand,  whose  education  in  this  particular  seems  to  have 
been  neglected.  It  is  not  easy  to  obtain  a  dispassionate  portrait 
of  Isabella.  The  Spaniards  who  revert  to  her  glorious  reign,  are 
so  smitten  with  her  moral  perfections,  that  even  in  depicting 
her  personal,  they  borrow  somewhat  of  the  exaggerated  coloring 
of  romance." 

The  marriage  of  the  happy  pair  was  solemnized  on  the 
19th  of  October,  1469.  Both  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  com- 
pelled to  borrow  money  to  defray  their  respective  portions  of  the 
expenses.  The  ceremony  was  witnessed  by  two  thousand  per- 
sons, the  highest  in  rank  being  the  Admiral  of  Castile  and  the 
Archbishop  of  Toledo.  The  latter  produced  upon  the  occasion  a 
spurious  papal  bull,   authorizing  the   parties  to  marry,  though 


134  ISABELLA. 

within  the  prohibited  degrees  of  consanguinity.  He  had  forged 
this  document  in  connection  with  the  King  of  Aragon  and  Ferdi- 
nand, well  aware  that  the  Pope  was  fully  committed  to  the  cause 
of  Henry,  and  would  not  have  granted  a  genuine  dispensation, 
and  that  Isabella  would  not  enter  into  a  forbidden  union,  with- 
out believing  herself  authorized  so  to  do.  When,  in  later  years, 
she  discovered  the  imposture,  she  obtained  an  authentic  bull 
from  Sixtus  IV. 

During  the  week  following  the  marriage,  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella sent  a  message  to  Henry,  informing  him  of  the  consumma- 
tion of  their  union,  and  asking  his  fraternal  approbation.  The 
unbrotherly  king  responded  by  avowing  his  determination  to 
resist  the  pretensions  of  Isabella,  by  putting  his  daughter  Jo- 
anna forward  as  his  successor.  Ambassadors  were  received 
from  Louis  XI.  of  France,  and  the  princess,  though  but  nine 
years  of  age,  was  betrothed,  by  proxy,  to  that  sovereign's  bro- 
ther, the  Duke  of  Guienne.  This  accession  of  the  influence  of 
the  French  court  to  that  of  the  crown  of  Castile  alarmed  many 
of  the  adherents  of  Isabella,  and  they  hastened  to  acknowledge 
their  allegiance  to  Joanna.  In  the  meantime,  the  whole  ter- 
ritory of  Castile  was  a  prey  to  the  most  frightful  anarchy  and 
civil  war — the  natural  but  fatal  results  of  the  license  of  the 
court,  the  corruption  of  the  clergy,  the  imbecility  of  the  gov- 
ernment, and  the  dispute  in  which  the  succession  was  involved. 
Isabella  remained  at  DueSas,  her  husband  being  often  absent 
to  aid  his  father  in  his  wars  with  the  Catalans  ;  her  discreet 
conduct  and  wise  administration  of  her  little  court,  convinced 
all  who  witnessed  them  that  her  ultimate  triumph  over  her  niece, 
her  rival,  would  be  the  most  auspicious  event  that  could  hap- 
pen to  their  country.  Henry  IV.  died  in  December,  1474, 
without  designating  his  successor.  The  previous  action  of  the 
cortes,  however,  in  doing  homage  to  Isabella  as  the  only  heir 
to  the  crown,  had  settled  this  vexed  question,  and  she  was 
proclaimed  queen    at   Segovia,    on   the   morning    of  the  13th, 


ISABELLA.  135 

The  principal  grandees  of  the  populous  cities  and  provinces  of 
the  kingdom  flocked  to  her  standard  and  tendered  her  their 
homage  and  allegiance. 

Ferdinand    soon    returned    from    Aragon,  and    evinced    a 
marked  dissatisfaction  with  the  bestowment  of  the  royal  pre- 
rogative upon  his  consort- — a  measure  which  involved  his  own 
degradation  to  a  secondary  rank.     Arbitrators  decided,  however, 
after  an  examination  of  the  subject,  that  the  Salic  law,  exclud- 
ing   females    from  the    succession,    did   not   obtain  in  Castile, 
although  it  did  in  Aragon  ;  that  Isabella  was  heir  to,  and  con- 
sequently  queen  proprietor  of,  the  kingdom  ;  and  that  Ferdi- 
nand, if  he  were  to  possess   any  authority,  could  only  obtain 
it  through  his  wife.      The  offended  prince,   upon   this  verdict, 
declared   he  would  go  home  to  his   father,    but   Isabella  com- 
forted him  by  the  assurance  that  his  will  should  be  hers,  and 
that  their  interests  should  always  be  inseparable.     Besides,  his 
profile  was  to  be  stamped,  in  conjunction  with  hers,  upon  the 
metallic   currency,    and  he  was   to    add  his  signature    to    hers, 
upon    public    documents    and    letters    j^atent.       She    moreover 
pleaded  the  maternal  argument,  that  if  a  Sahc  law  excluded  her, 
it  must,  in  the  impartiality  of  its    operation,   likewise  exclude 
their    only  child,  a  daughter.      By  such    mollifying  arguments 
did  the  Queen    of  Castile  induce  her  discontented  husband  to 
acquiesce  in  the  decision  of  the  cortes.      She  now  commenced 
her  beneficent  reign  over  a  kingdom  described,    at  the  j^eriod 
of   her  accession,  by  the   historian  whom  we  have  quoted,  as 
"  dismembered  by  faction,  the  revenues  squandered  on  worth- 
less parasites,    the    grossest  violations    of   justice    unredressed, 
public  faith  become  a  jest,  the  treasury  bankrupt,  the  court  a 
brothel,    and  private  morals    too  loose   and  audacious  to  seek 
even  the  veil  of  hypocrisy  !      Never  had  the  fortunes  of   the 
kingdom  reached   so   low  an  ebb  since  the    great   Saracen  in- 
iion." 
The    last   spark  of   opposition   which    the    new    sovereigns 


136  ISABELLA. 

encountered  from  the  hostile  pretensions  of  Joanna,  was  extin- 
guished by  the  great  battle  of  Toro,  fought  between  the  Cas- 
tilians,  under  Ferdinand,  and  the  Portuguese,  under  their 
king,  Alfonzo.  Isabella  devoted  herself  night  and  day  to  the 
interests  of  her  kingdom  during  the  struggle.  She  dictated 
dispatches,  performed  long  journeys  on  horseback,  inspected 
citadels,  reviewed  disciplined  troops,  and  drilled  raw  recruits. 
AVhen  the  tidings  of  Ferdinand's  triumph  reached  her,  she 
ordered  her  court  to  go  in  procession  to  a  suburban  church, 
and  set  an  example  of  royal  humiliation  by  walking  barefoot 
herself.  A  treaty  of  peace  was  signed  with  Portugal  on  the 
24th  of  September,  1479,  and  the  war  of  the  succession  was 
closed.  In  the  same  year,  the  throne  of  Aragon,  with  its  six 
dependencies,  descended,  by  the  death  of  the  king,  to  Ferdi- 
nand, and  thus,  after  a  separation  of  four  hundred  years,  Cas- 
tile  and  Aragon  were   again  united  under  the  same   crown. 

Isabella  now  devoted  herself  to  the  elaboration  of  efficient 
schemes  of  reform.  The  administration  of  justice  was  en- 
forced by  the  introduction  of  rigid  but  impartial  laws  ;  when 
they  were  resisted,  she  herself  repaired  to  the  scene  of  the 
rebellion,  and  witnessed  their  prompt  execution.  She  organ- 
ized a  force  of  two  thousand  military  police,  Avhose  swift  and 
unsparing  justice  restored  the  country,  in  the  space  of  twenty- 
two  years,  to  a  condition  of  security  it  had  never  yet  known. 
The  privileges  of  the  nobles  were  curtailed,  grants  made  to 
them  by  previous  sovereigns  were  revoked,  and  a  sum  of 
thirty  million  maravedis  was  annually  economized.  The  aris- 
tocratic classes,  in  resisting  these  innovations,  wei'e  made  to 
feel  severely  the  strength  of  the  hand  which  now  held  the 
reins  of  government.  The  military  orders  were  compelled  to 
root  out  the  corruptions  which  had  crept  into  their  organiza- 
tions ;  the  church  of  Rome  was  forced  to  abandon  the  prac- 
tice which  it  had  usurped,  of  making  appointments  to  vacant 
sees,  and   to    cease  its    encroachments  upon  the    lay  tribunals. 


ISABELLA.  137 

The  stagnation  of  trade,  resulting  from  the  misrule  of  pre- 
vious sovereigns  and  from  the  debasement  of  the  currency, 
was  met  and  combated  by  acts  determining  the  standard  of 
coins  and  affixing  heavy  penalties  to  the  issuing  of  counter- 
feit money ;  by  the  construction  of  roads  and  viaducts ;  by 
punctual  payment,  on  the  part  of  the  government,  of  its  obli- 
gations ;  and  by  the  enactment  of  laws  encouraging  commerce 
and  protecting  the  mercantile  marine.  The  husbandman,  no 
longer  dreading  the  inroads  of  hostile  bands  upon  his  mead- 
ows, and  the  settlement  of  hereditary  feuds  amid  his  harvests, 
felt  once  more  a  stimulus  to  toil ;  and  the  face  of  the  couir- 
try  soon  bore  witness,  in  the  renewed  vigor  of  its  culture,  to 
the  wisdom  of  the  measures  of  the  queen.  The  court  itself, 
following  her  admirable  example,  and  repudiating  the  lessons 
of  many  generations  of  license,  became  the  appropriate  setting 
of  the  jewel  of  the  crown.  The  wilderness  once  more  blossomed 
as  the  rose. 

Desirous  of  fortifying  her  temporal  power  by  calling  to  her 
aid  the  influence  of  spiritual  authority,  Isabella  committed  the 
lamentable  error  of  promoting  the  religious  intolerance  and 
bigotry  of  her  age,  in  listening  to  the  importunate  clamor  of  the 
clergy  against  the  Jews  ;  she  suffered  her  zeal  in  behalf  of  true 
religion  to  be  so  warped  by  her  reverend  advisers,  that  she  was 
induced  to  solicit,  from  Pope  Sixtus  IV.,  a  bull  for  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Inquisition  in  Castile,  in  behalf  of  "the  extirpation 
of  heresy,  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  exaltation  of  the  Catholic 
faith."  The  Holy  Office  was  inaugurated  at  Seville  in  January, 
1481,  and  six  Jewish  victims  were  burned  at  the  stake  on 
the  6th  of  the  month  ;  two  hundi'ed  and  ninety-eight  convicted 
heretics  suffered  death  by  fire  during  the  year  in  Seville  ;  the 
province  of  Andalusia  itself  furnishing,  in  the  same  space  of 
time,  two  thousand  martyrs  to  the  flames,  while  seventeen  thou- 
sand were  either  mulcted  in  property  or  civilly  incapacitated. 
We  do  not  care  to  linger  upon  this  deplorable  page  of  Isabella's 

18 


138  ISABELLA. 

history ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  the  misguided  queen,  through  the 
agency  of  her  confessor,  Torquemada,  afterwards  Inquisitor- 
General  of  Castile  and  Aragon,  was  concerned,  directly  or 
indirectly,  in  the  burning  of  ten  thousand  men  and  women, 
and  in  the  infliction  of  lesser,  but  still  terrible,  penalties  upon 
one  hundred  thousand  more.  Great,  indeed,  must  have  been  the 
compensating  merits  of  Isabella,  transcendent  must  have  been 
her  services  to  civilization,  to  have  outweighed,  in  the  judgment 
of  posterity,  the  atrocious  wrongs  inflicted  upon  her  land  by 
the  most  unholy  of  human  institutions. 

Isabella  had  no  sooner  directed  the  vengeance  of  the  state 
against  one  form  of  heresy,  than  she  became  i^ossessed  with  an 
ardent  desire  to  wage  a  similar  war  of  extirpation  against  that 
more  extensive  and  dangerous  foi'm — Mohammedanism.  The 
Saracen  empire  in  Spain,  which  had  been  founded  in  the  middle 
of  the  eighth  century,  had  shriuik,  in  the  time  of  Isabella, 
within  the  limits  of  a  single  province,  perhaps  the  fairest  in 
the  peninsula — Granada.  Here  the  crescent  had  waved  tri- 
umphantly since  the  year  711.  Intercourse  of  a  neutral,  semi- 
amicable  character  had  for  many  years  been  kept  up  between 
the  two  peoples.  In  1476,  Isabella  required  from  the  Moorish 
sovereign,  upon  the  renewal  of  an  existing  truce,  the  payment 
of  a  tribute  to  which  his  predecessors  had  been  accustomed  to 
submit.  He  tartly  replied  that  the  mint  of  Granada  had  aban- 
doned the  coinage  of  gold,  and  coined  steel  instead.  The  war, 
thus  provoked,  was  commenced  by  the  Moors  late  in  the  year 
1481,  by  an  attack  upon  the  Andalusian  town  of  Zahara.  The 
garrison  was  surprised,  and  the  whole  population,  men,  women 
and  children,  were  carried  off  slaves  to  the  Moors.  The 
Castilians  revenged  this  loss  by  the  capture  of  the  Moslem 
stronghold  of  Albania ;  the  city  was  tlien  ecclesiastically  purified, 
and  its  mosques  were  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  the  true 
God.  The  green  crops  in  the  surrounding  fields  were  destroyed, 
the  vines  uprooted  and  the  trees  felled  to  the  earth.     The  eleven 


ISABELLA.  139 

years'  war  was  fairly  begun.  Isabella  issued  orders  fixing  the 
quota  of  men  and  supplies  to  be  furnished  by  each  province  ; 
and  she  dotted  the  Mediterranean  with  the  sails  of  a  powerful 
fleet,  commissioned  to  scour  the  Barbary  coast  and  intercept  all 
aid  and  comfort  sent  by  the  Moors  of  Africa. 

For  four  years  the  war  continued,  with  varying  success,  and 
without  a  decisive  action  on  either  side.  The  foragers,  of  whom 
there  were  thirty  thousand  in  Isabella's  armies,  made  incursions 
in  spring  and  autumn  into  the  enemy's  vineyards,  pastures  and 
wheat  fields,  devastating  the  face  of  nature,  and  destroying  the 
works  of  man.  Isabella,  summoning  engineers  and  military 
artisans  from  France  and  Germany,  and  pointing  out  to  them 
the  Moorish  strongholds  perched  upon  dizzy  heights  and  defying 
her  weak  artillery,  commanded  them  to  forge  cannon  and  other 
battering  engines  capable  of  reducing  them.  Gunpowder  was 
imported  from  Sicily  and  Flanders.  Camps  were  laid  out, 
forges  erected,  commissaries  appointed,  and  rigid  systems  of 
supply  elaborated.  Isabella  soon  possessed  the  finest  artillery 
in  Europe,  though,  viewed  in  the  light  of  modern  experience, 
it  was  of  course  rude  and  comparatively  inefficient.  An  army 
of  pioneers  constructed  the  roads  over  which  the  trains  proceeded. 
Such  were  the  difficulties  in  levelling  mountains,  in  felling  trees, 
and  in  bridging  torrents,  that  the  average  advance  of  the  besieging 
army  across  the  ■  rugged  sierras,  was  one  mile  a  day.  Isabella 
remained  upon  the  frontier,  informed  by  hourly  couriers  of  the 
progress  of  events.  She  held  the  exclusive  control  of  the  com- 
missariat department,  supplying  her  own  army  as  well  as  such 
captured  cities  of  the  enemy  as  were  surrounded  with  trampled 
harvests.  She  established  and  sujaported,  at  her  own  expense, 
a  hospital  in  the  camp — the  first  on  record.  Everywhere,  in 
every  department  of  the  war,  her  influence  was  powerfully  felt, 
and  vigor  was  infused  into  every  ai'tery  of  the  service  by  the 
contagious  effect  of  her  own  inspiring  example.  In  1486,  the 
Spaniards  had  advanced  sixty  miles  into  the  territory  of  Granada, 


140  ISABELLA. 

fortifying  and  colonizing  each  successive  conquest.  The  sea-port 
of  Malaga,  a  town  second  only  to  the  city  of  Granada,  well  pre- 
pared to  sustain  a  siege,  hxy  completely  exposed  to  the  invaders 
in  April,  1487. 

The  first  attempts  upon  this  stronghold  being  repulsed,  and 
rumors  of  the  approach  of  the  plague  spreading  dismay  among 
his  troops,  Ferdinand  sent  to  Isabella,  at  Cordova,  demanding 
her  instant  presence  at  the  camp.  She  came,  with  her  usual 
retinue  of  ecclesiastics  and  gallants,  and  repaired  to  her  tent 
amid  the  rapturous  greetings  of  the  loyal  forces.  The  enthusiasm 
of  the  besiegers  was  revived  by  her  arrival.  Ferdinand  resolved 
to  spare  no  longer  the  architectural  gloi'ies  of  the  city,  and 
brought  out  his  heavy  ordnance.  The  attack  was  met  in  a  spirit 
of  gallantry  of  which  even  the  Spanish  historians  express  their 
admiration.  The  battle  raged  for  six  hours,  when  the  Spaniards, 
following  up  the  harassing  effects  of  an  exploded  mine,  estab- 
lished themselves  in  the  enemy's  defences.  The  city  soon  after 
surrendered  without  condition,  and  in  the  middle  of  August, 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  made  their  entrance  into  the  stronghold. 
A  Te  Deum  was  sung  for  the  first  time  in  the  Saracen  cathedral, 
and  then  Ferdinand  pronounced  his  sentence  on  the  inhabitants. 
They  were  doomed  to  slavery :  one-third  to  be  sent  to  Africa  in 
exchange  for  an  equal  number  of  Christians ;  one-third  to  be 
sold  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  war  ;  and  one-third  to  be 
given  away  as  presents.  Isabella  herself  sent  fift}^  of  the  fairest 
girls  to  the  Queen  of  Naples — a  cruel  measure,  which  "may  find 
some  palliation,  however,  in  the  bigotry  of  the  age — the  more 
excusable  in  a  woman,  whom  education,  general  example,  and  a 
constant  distrust  of  hei'self,  accustomed  to  rely,  in  matters  of 
conscience,  on  the  spiritual  guides  whose  piety  and  professional 
learning  seemed  to  qualify  them  for  the  trust." 

The  year  1489  was  devoted  to  the  siege  and  reduction  of 
Baza,  near  the  Guadalquivir.  The  queen  fixed  her  residence  at 
Jaen,  and  Ferdinand  took   command,   in   May,  of  an  army  of 


ISABELLA.  141 

80,000  foot,  and  15,000  horse.  Baza,  unlike  the  majority  of 
Moorish  strongholds,  lay  in  a  spacious  valley,  devoted  to  culti- 
vation and  irrigated  by  a  net-work  of  canals.  The  city  was 
strongly  fortified,  and  though  amply  provisioned  for  fifteen 
months,  the  prudent  inhabitants  had  harvested  the  yet  unsea- 
soned crops.  The  first  onslaught  was  unsuccessful,  and  the 
Spaniards  were  beaten  back.  The  army  at  once  became  dejected 
and  Ferdinand  irresolute.  Nothing  remained  but  to  ask  the 
advice  of  Isabella.  She  replied  in  encouraging  terms,  asserting 
that  their  cause  was  the  cause  of  God,  and  adding,  that  they 
need  have  no  apprehension  concerning  the  regularity  of  the 
supplies — an  item  for  which  she  held  herself  responsible.  Thus 
exhilarated  and  reassured,  the  soldiers  returned  to  their  labors 
with  renewed  spirits.  Ten  thousand  men  labored  at  the  works 
of  investment  for  seven  weeks,  in  the  midst  of  the  constant  and 
harassing  sorties  of  the  enemy,  and  of  hand-to-hand  encounters 
between  the  champions  of  either  army.  Their  ^^rovident  caterer, 
the  queen,  sent  them  not  only  bread  and  meat  in  the  wagons  of 
the  commissariat,  but  silks,  cutlery  and  jewels,  in  the  packs  of 
Aragonese  and  Catalonian  peddlers. 

The  siege  had  now  lasted  five  months.  An  autumnal  storm, 
for  which  the  besieged  had  hourly  prayed,  at  last  broke  over 
the  investing  camp.  A  deluge  of  rain  swept  away  their  tents, 
and,  by  rendering  the  roads  impassable,  broke  up  their  com- 
munication with  Jaen.  For  a  time  Isabella's  vans  were  inter- 
rupted ;  the  labors,  however,  of  six  thousand  levellers  speedily 
repaired  the  damage  ;  new  bridges  spanned  the  torrents,  and 
new  passes  cut  the  mountains  ;  the  fourteen  thousand  mules  of 
the  department  at  once  resumed  their  traffic  to  and  fro.  Isabella 
ordered  new  levies  of  troops,  and  obtained  upon  her  individual 
security  large  loans  from  religious  associations ;  she  even  pawned 
the  crown  jewels,  the  city  of  Valencia  advancing  thirty-five 
thousand  florins  upon  the  crown  itself.  Her  presence  being 
ardently  desired  in  the  camp,  she  repaired  thither  on  the  7th  of 


U2  ISABELLA. 

November.  Her  arrival  was  the  signal  for  a  mutual  suspension 
of  hostilities  ;  a  truce  was,  as  it  were,  tacitly  agreed  upon.  Her 
visit  was  construed  by  the  Moors  as  an  earnest  of  renewed  effort 
on  the  part  of  the  besiegers,  and  they,  therefore,  offered  terms 
of  capitulation,  which,  after  some  negotiation,  were  accepted. 
The  sovereigns  took  possession  of  the  city  on  the  4th  of  Decem- 
ber ;  the  cities  of  Almeria  and  Guadix  surrendered  in  quick 
succession,  and  the  army,  after  leaving  a  sufficient  force  in  each, 
returned  to  Jaen  in  January,  1490.  This  was  the  eighth  and 
most  decisive  year  of  the  war.  Eighty  thousand  men  had  kept 
the  field — twenty  thousand  of  them  falling  before  the  sword  of 
the  enemy  or  the  diseases  incident  to  camp  life. 

Abdallah,  the  King  of  Granada,  had  stipulated  some  years 
previously,  that  upon  the  capitulation  of  Baza,  Almeria, 
and  Guadix,  he  would  surrender  his  capital  as  well.  Being 
summoned,  early  in  the  year  1490,  to  perform  this  engage- 
ment, he  declined,  alleging  the  decided  opposition  of  his  con- 
stituents, the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  who  clamorously  insisted 
upon  its  defence.  Ferdinand,  therefore,  prepared  for  its  reduc- 
tion, and  in  April,  1491,  took  command  of  the  army  collected 
for  that  purpose.  Towards  the  close  of  the  month,  the  camp 
was  formed  at  about  two  leagues  distance  from  the  massive 
and  magnificent  metropolis.  Isabella  often  appeared  upon  the 
field  upon  a  steed  superbly  ca^^arisoned,  and,  with  her  retinue 
of  ladies,  witnessed  the  tournaments — often  fatal  to  both  com- 
batants— in  which  the  cavahers  of  the  two  armies  whiled 
away  the  time  not  spent  in  more  general  melees.  Sorties 
from  the  city  were  repulsed  with  unequal  loss,  and,  on  one 
occasion,  when  the  Moorish  rabble  issued  from  the  gates,  to 
measure  their  undisciplined  forces  with  the  Christian  warriors, 
two  thousand  of  them  fell  in  the  brief  though  ruthless  slaugh- 
ter which  ensued. 

Midsummer  brought  with  it  a  disaster  which  might  have 
been  fatal  to    the  Castilian    cause   and   queen.       The   pavilion 


ISABELLA.  143 

of  Isabella,  by  the  negligence  of  an  attendant,  was  set  on  fire 
at  the  dead  of  night.  The  flames  spread  from  tent  to  tent, 
and  soon  threatened  to  envelop  the  camp.  They  were  at 
length  subdued,  though  not  before  a  large  amount  of  tent 
material — a  portion  of  it  valuable  and  not  easily  replaced — 
had  been  destroyed.  It  was  at  once  resolved,  instead  of  re- 
constructing the  camp,  to  build  a  city  upon  its  site.  Edifices 
of  stone  and  mortar— houses  for  the  officers,  barracks  for  the 
men,  stables  for  the  horses — rose  before  the  wondering  eyes 
of  the  beleaguered  Moslems.  The  city  was  completed  in  Octo- 
ber, and  though  the  whole  army  desired  to  confer  upon  it  the 
victorious  name  of  Isabella,  the  queen  thought  fit  to  record, 
in  the  title  selected,  the  faith  of  her  people  in  the  sustaining 
protection  of  Providence.  The  city  bears  to  this  day  the 
name  it  then  received — Santa  Fe. 

The  besieged  were  alarmed  at  this  stone  encampment — 
one  which  they  felt  would  outlive  Granada.  Abdallah  saw  the 
provisions  giving  out,  the  suppUes  cut  ofl',  and  aid  from  across 
the  Mediterranean  intercepted.  He  opened  negotiations  with 
the  enemy  for  the  capitulation  of  the  city,  his  people  being 
held  in  ignorance  of  their  progress.  The  2d  of  January,  1492, 
was  fixed  upon  for  the  surrender,  which  took  place  with 
every  possible  religious  and  military  ceremonial.  The  court, 
discarding  the  mourning  they  had  assumed  upon  the  death  of 
Alfonzo,  Prince  of  Portugal,  appeared  clad  in  their  most  sump- 
tuous holiday  garments,  while  the  army  glittered  in  polished 
steel,  and  waved  aloft  the  now  triumphant  Banner  of  the  Cross. 
As  the  first  column  ascended  to  the  city,  Abdallah,  starting 
upon  the  exile  to  which  the  terms  of  surrender  condemned 
him,  saluted  Ferdinand  as  he  passed,  at  the  same  time  de- 
livering to  him  the  keys  of  the  Alhambra,  saying,  "They  are 
thine,  0  king,  since  Allah  so  decrees  it ;  use  thy  success  with 
clemency   and  moderation." 

The   Moorish   war,   like   the   siege   of   Troy,   to  which   the 


144  ISABELLA. 

Spaniards  often  compare  it,  had  lasted  ten  years,  and  thus 
ended  in  the  fall  of  Granada.  The  Spanish  Arabs,  driven  from 
the  empire  which  they  had  raised  to  the  highest  degree  of  civili- 
zation of  which  their  religion  and  government  rendered  tJicm 
capable,  withdrew  before  a  people  whose  faith  and  resources 
made  them  eminently  fit  to  cultivate  to  the  utmost,  the  ad- 
vantages which  nature,  with  prodigal  hand,  had  lavished  upon 
this  favored  spot. 

While  the  sovereigns  were  still  before  Granada,  the  inquisi- 
tors, to  whom  the  task  of  converting  and  reforming  the  Jews 
had  lately  been  assigned,  reported  to  them  the  entire  failure  of 
the  rigorous  measures  adojited.  They  urged  the  necessity  of 
the  total  banishment  of  the  Israelitish  race  from  Spanish  soil, 
supporting  their  argument  by  the  most  calumnious  accusations. 
The  Jews,  they  said,  kidnapped  Christian  children  and  crucified 
them  in  mockery  of  the  Saviour  ;  they  sought  to  make  convei'ts 
from  Christianity,  and  to  reclaim  such  of  their  own  faith  as  the 
Inquisition  had  led  astray.  Jewish  apothecaries,  making  adroit 
mistakes  in  compounding  their  prescriptions,  sent  home  deadly 
doses  to  their  Christian  patients.  Christians,  too,  they  com- 
plained, still,  from  time  to  time,  took  Jewish  wives,  seduced  by 
the  tempting  plethora  of  the  Jewish  coffers.  Wherefore,  they 
sohcited  an  immediate  edict  of  banishment.  The  wily  Hebrews, 
aware  of  the  progress  of  these  deliberations,  sent  a  deputy  to 
conciliate  their  majesties  by  the  offer  of  thirty  thousand  ducats, 
to  be  spent  in  extirpating  the  Moors.  The  sovereigns  gave 
audience  to  their  ambassador,  amused,  doubtless,  at  this  contri- 
bution from  one  form  of  heresy  for  the  eradication  of  another. 

While  the  negotiation  was  pending,  Isabella  being  markedly 
anxious,  from  motives  not  only  of  humanity,  but  also  of  policy 
and  prudence,  to  retain  in  her  empire  the  most  industrious,  skill- 
ful, and  orderly  portion  of  her  subjects,  the  Inquisitor-General, 
Torquemada,  burst  into  the  apartment,  and  holding  aloft  his 
crucifix,  exclaimed:  "Judas  Iscariot  sold  his  Master  for  thirty 


ISABELLA.  145 

pieces  of  silver  ;  your  highnesses  would  sell  Him  anew  for  thirty 
thousand  :  here  He  is,  take  Him  and  barter  Him  away !"  He 
tossed  the  holy  emblem  violently  on  the  table,  and  rushed  fran- 
tically out.  Isabella,  who  was  still,  in  all  matters  concerning 
religion,  absolutely  under  the  influence  of  her  late  confessor,  to 
whom  she  had  surrendered  her  judgment  in  affairs  of  conscience, 
hushed  her  own  scruples  and  signed  the  edict.  One  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  Jews  were  expelled  the  kingdom,  the  clauses 
of  the  instrument  regulating  the  tei'ms  of  their  banishment  being 
so  framed,  that  many  a  departing  exile,  forbidden  to  carry  gold 
or  silver  with  him,  and  yet  compelled  to  exchange  immovables 
for  movables,  bartered  his  house  for  an  ass  and  his  vineyard  for 
a  suit  of  clothes.  Spain  lost,  in  this  wholesale  expatriation  of 
her  subjects,  her  best  artisans,  mechanics,  and  handicraftsmen — 
a  loss  which  in  any  age  would  be  lamentable,  and  one  which  in 
that  age  of  tardy  national  development,  was  irreparable.  Indeed, 
one  of  the  wealthiest  districts  of  Spain  being  depopulated,  and 
em^Dtying  its  valuable,  though  heretical,  citizens  into  the  terri- 
tories of  the  Turkish  Sultan  Bajazet,  the  barbarian  monarch 
exclaimed  :  "  Do  they  call  this  Ferdinand  a  politic  prince,  who 
can  thus  impoverish  his  own  kingdom  and  enrich  ours  ?" 

We  have  purposely  omitted  alluding  to  the  arrival  in  Spain 
of  Christopher  Columbus,  during  the  Moorish  war,  in  order  to 
make  a  consecutive  narrative  of  his  various  applications  to  the 
court  of  Isabella.  Repulsed  by  the  authorities  of  Genoa,  his 
native  city,  his  schemes  treated  as  visionary  by  the  Council  of 
Venice,  his  negotiations  with  the  King  of  Portugal  rendered 
fruitless  by  the  disloyal  conduct  of  that  potentate,  Columbus 
ai'rived  in  Spain  about  the  year  1484,  to  lay  his  proposals  for 
western  discovery  before  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  The  sove- 
reigns, though  deeply  engaged  in  their  preparations  for  extir- 
pating the  Moors,  referred  the  subject  to  a  council  of  scholars 
and  philosophers  assembled  at  Salamanca.      Their  verdict  was 

unfavorable;  and  Columbus,  after  five  years  spent  in  solicitation, 

19 


146  ISABELLA. 

returned  to  the  convent  of  La  Rabida,  where  he  had  left  his  son 
Diego  with  his  friend  Juan  Marchena,  the  prior.  Marchena,  who 
had  formerly  been  Isabella's  confessor,  determined  to  repair 
in  person  to  the  improvised  city  of  Santa  Fe,  in  which  the  sove- 
reigns were  now  receiving  the  proposals  of  Abdallah  to  surrender 
Granada.  He  was  at  once  admitted  to  an  audience,  and  urged 
the  cause  of  the  despairing  philosopher  with  so  much  zeal  and 
effect,  that  Isabella,  regarding  the  Moorish  war  as  well-nigh 
terminated,  decided  to  resume  the  negotiation  with  Columbus, 
and  bade  him  attend  her  at  Santa  Fe.  He  arrived  in  time  to 
witness  the  capitulation  of  the  Moslem  stronghold,  and  then  laid 
once  more  before  the  king  and  queen  his  fascinating  programme. 

Apart  from  the  arguments  upon  which  he  founded  his  faith 
in  the  existence  of  a  western  continent,  he  urged  two  motives 
which  he  thought  likely  to  sway  the  passions  and  influence  the 
judgment  of  his  hearers.  For  Ferdinand  he  alleged  the  fabulous 
riches  of  the  lands  which  he  hoped  to  discover,  and  which  he 
doubted  not  would  prove,  though  reached  by  sea  from  the  east, 
to  be  the  Cathay  and  Cipango  which  Marco  Polo  had  reached  by 
land  from  the  west.  For  Isabella  he  held  out  the  hope  of  adding 
new  domains  to  the  fast  extending  empire  of  Christendom,  and 
of  gathering  nations  of  pagans  beneath  the  banner  of  the  cross. 
Ferdinand  still  looked  with  coldness  upon  the  project,  and  his 
distrust  changed  to  downright  ojjposition  when  Columbus  made 
known  his  conditions.  He  stipulated  that  he  should  receive  the 
title  of  Admiral  of  the  Ocean  and  Viceroy  of  all  lands  discovered ; 
that  his  share  in  all  exportations  from  such  lands  should  be 
one-tenth  ;  and  that  his  titles  and  authority  should  be  trans- 
missible in  his  family  for  ever.  The  negotiations  were  abruptly 
brought  to  an  end,  and  Columbus,  once  more  shaking  the  dust 
of  Spain  from  his  feet,  mounted  his  mule  and  rode  sturdily 
away. 

Isabella's  advisers  now  warmly  remonstrated  with  her.  She 
listened,  and  at  last  resolved  to  accept  for  herself,  individually, 


ISABELLA.  147 

the  risk  and  responsibility  which  she  knew  Ferdinand  would  not 
consent  to  share.  Columbus  was  recalled,  when  but  a  few  miles 
from  Granada,  and,  upon  his  return,  was  courteously  received. 
"I  will  assume  the  undertaking,"  said  Isabella,  "for  my  own 
crown  of  Castile,  and  am  ready  to  pawn  my  jewels  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  it,  if  the  funds  in  the  treasury  shall  be  found 
inadequate."  A  definitive  arrangement  was  signed  before 
Granada  on  the  I7tli  of  April,  1492,  the  title  and  authority 
which  Columbus  had  claimed  being  fully  secured  to  him.  He 
was  to  be  the  governor-general  of  all  discovered  lands,  with  the 
privilege  of  suggesting  candidates  for  the  governorship,  from 
whom  the  sovereigns  should  choose.  His  tenth  part  of  the 
products  and  profits  was  likewise  guaranteed.  Isabella  inte- 
rested herself  personally  in  the  preparations  for  the  expedition, 
and  it  is  probable  that  without  this  royal  intervention  in  his 
behalf,  Columbus  would  never  have  overcome  the  overt  and 
even  rebellious  opposition  which  the  shipowners  and  sailors  of 
the  Andalusian  ports  manifested  to  the  undertaking.  On  the 
3d  of  August,  1492,  the  commander  and  his  crews  partook  of  the 
holy  communion,  unfurled  the  banner  of  the  cross,  and  set  sail 
upon  their  adventurous  voyage. 

Towards  the  close  of  May,  the  sovereigns  quitted  Granada 
and  Santa  Fe,  and  undertook  a  progress  through  the  country. 
They  were  everywhere  received  with  an  enthusiasm  bordering 
on  dehrium.  The  court  spent  the  winter  at  Barcelona,  and  in  the 
spring  of  1493,  received  letters  from  Palos,  announcing  the 
return  of  Columbus,  after  a  voyage  resulting  in  the  discovery 
of  land  in  the  western  seas.  Impatient  to  hear  the  details  of 
this  wonderful  intelligence,  they  forwarded  instructions  to  the 
Admiral  of  the  Ocean  to  attend  them  instantly  at  Barcelona. 
He  set  out  amidst  the  ringing  of  bells,  and  such  processional 
honors  as  the  little  village  of  Palos  could  afford.  His  journey 
was  an  ovation  from  beginning  to  end.  He  reached  the  Cata- 
lonian  capital  in  the  middle  of  April.     He  was  escorted  to  the 


148  ISABELLA. 

palace  by  the  authorities  of  the  city  and  the  nobles  in  attendance 
upon  their  majesties.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  rose  from  their 
seats,  extended  their  hands  to  him,  and  bade  him  be  seated 
before  them.  The  court  was  somewhat  moved  from  its  propriety 
at  these  unprecedented  marks  of  condescension.  Columbus  then 
narrated  his  adventures  and  discoveries,  enumerating  the  islands 
he  had  visited,  describing  their  climate  and  productions,  and 
even  showing  specimens  of  their  metallic  riches,  and  enlarging 
upon  the  character  of  the  simple  and  confiding  races  who 
inhabited  them.  Though  his  manner  was  sedate  rather  than 
enthusiastic,  and  his  deductions  those  of  a  philosopher  rather 
than  those  of  an  enthusiast,  yet  the  audience  were  kindled  to 
rapture  by  his  graphic  and  eloquent  recital.  The  king  and 
queen  set  the  example,  as  he  concluded,  of  prostrating  them- 
selves before  Him  who  had  vouchsafed  these  precious  favors  to 
the  Spanish  crown,  and  the  kneeling  assembly  joined  the  choir 
in  its  inspiring  anthem  of  the  Te  Deum  Laudamus. 

Isabella,  in  conjunction  with  Ferdinand,  now  devoted  herself 
earnestly  to  furthering  the  interest  of  her  infant  colonial  pos- 
sessions. A  custom-house  for  the  transaction  of  West  Indian 
affairs  was  established  at  Cadiz,  which  was  henceforth  to  be  the 
port  of  departure.  Seeds,  roots,  grains,  were  sent  thither  in 
abundance  for  exportation  and  transplantation ;  shipowners  were 
required  to  hold  their  vessels  at  Columbus'  disposal ;  miners, 
mechanics  and  ai-tisans  were  recruited  and  collected  at  Cadiz, 
and  Columbus  was  empowered  to  impress  officers,  soldiers  and 
sailors.  The  equipment  for  his  second  voyage  was  completed 
by  the  addition  of  twelve  priests,  among  whom  was  the  since 
celebrated  Las  Casas,  whose  mission  was  to  conciliate  and  illu- 
minate the  heathen,  under  a  system  of  benevolent  regulations 
drawn  up  by  Isabella  herself.  Columbus  departed  on  the  25th 
of  September,  1-193,  with  seventeen  vessels  and  fifteen  hundred 
men — the  latter  no  longer  craven  and  shrinking  poltroons,  as  on 
the  occasion  of  his  first  voyage  from  Palos,  but  many  of  them 


ISABELLA.  149 

persons  who  had  enlisted  without  compensation,  eager  in  the 
pursuit  of  western  adventure,  romance  or  booty.  To  defray  the 
expenses  of  this  voyage,  Isabella  resorted  to  a  loan,  applying 
to  the  same  purpose  a  portion  of  the  proceeds  of  the  Jewish 
confiscation. 

The  first  intelligence  from  the  colonists  was  encouraging, 
and  sustained  the  enthusiasm  of  the  nation.  But  disastrous 
tidings  soon  followed.  The  adventurers,  who  were  subjected  to 
no  control  or  discipline,  were  frittering  away  their  energy  in 
isolated  and  bootless  enterprises  ;  no  discoveries  of  gold  had 
rewarded  their  efforts,  while  rapine  and  massacre  had  followed 
in  their  track  through  the  islands  they  had  invaded.  License 
and  disaffection  had  desolated  their  ranks  ;  and  Columbus  was 
regarded  with  jealousy  as  a  Genoese  and  a  foreigner.  Isabella's 
ear  was  constantly  assailed  with  accusations  and  complaints 
against  the  admiral,  to  which  she  listened  with  undisguised 
reluctance.  Columbus  returned  in  1496,  and  was  received  with 
the  same  favor  as  before.  He  again  brought  specimens  of  the 
productions  of  the  soil  and  the  handiwork  of  the  natives,  but  the 
adventurers  who  returned  with  him  told  so  sad  a  story  of 
destitution  and  privation,  that  the  public  returned  to  its  former 
skepticism,  and  regarded  with  pity  the  rehance  still  exhibited  by 
Isabella  upon  the  admiral's  representations.  Placing  implicit 
confidence  in  his  assurances  that  he  could  not  fail  soon  to 
discover  a  mainland,  she  managed  to  divert  to  his  use  a  portion 
of  the  sums  set  aside  for  the  nuptials  of  her  only  son  John  with 
the  Princess  Margaret  of  Austria,  and  for  those  of  her  daughter 
Isabella  with  Emmanuel,  King  of  Portugal.  Honors  were  con- 
stantly conferred  upon  him,  and  his  privileges  increased  with 
his  years. 

In  April,  1497,  John,  Prince  of  the  Asturies,  now  m  his 
twentieth  year,  espoused  his  Flemish  bride  at  Bruges.  The 
whole  nation  rejoiced  at  this  auspicious  event,  which  promised 
to  Europe  peace,  and  to  Spain  a  continuance,  under  the  son,  the 


150  ISABELLA. 

first  heir  to  the  combined  monarchies  of  Aragon  and  Castile,  of 
the  beneficent  sway  of  his  royal  parents.  But  this  joy  was  short- 
lived. The  prmce  was  taken  iU  at  Salamanca,  whither  Ferdinand 
hastened  upon  receiving  the  first  intelligence.  He  arrived  in 
time  to  see  his  son  expire,  young  in  years,  but  ripe  in  philosophy 
and  resignation.  In  order  to  prepare  Isabella  for  the  calamity, 
he  sent  couriers  to  lier  in  rapid  succession,  each  with  a  bulletin 
less  favorable  than  its  predecessor.  The  queen  foresaw  the  dis- 
pensation, and  the  messenger  who  bore  the  final  and  fatal  tidings 
found  her  ready  to  receive  them.  She  ordered  the  court  to 
assume  sackcloth  instead  of  white  serge,  the  usual  mourning 
garb,  and  closed  all  public  offices  for  the  space  of  forty  days. 

This  calamity  was  shortly  followed  by  the  death  of  Isabella, 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  sovereigns,  now,  by  a  second  marriage, 
the  wife  of  the  King  of  Portugal.  She  died  in  giving  birth  to  a 
son,  who  was  at  once  recognized  as  heir  to  the  three  crowns  of 
Aragon,  Castile  and  Portugal.  He,  in  his  turn,  was  taken  away, 
hardly  living  to  complete  his  second  year.  The  health  of  Isabella 
gradually  sank  under  these  accumulating  sorrows. 

Columbus  departed  upon  his  third  voyage  in  May,  1498,  from 
the  port  of  St.  Lucar,  with  six  vessels  and  a  deficient  complement 
of  men,  a  portion  of  the  latter  being  convicts,  whose  severe 
sentences  had  been  commuted  to  transportation.  He  found  the 
colony  harassed  by  disaffection  and  mutiny,  and  spent  a  year  in 
attempting  to  remove  the  abuses  which  had  sprung  up  in  his 
absence.  Again  were  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  annoyed  by  clamors 
against  the  admiral,  and  the  king  could  hardly  ride  out  on  horse- 
back without  being  persecuted  by  importunate  demands  for 
redress.  Columbus  was  charged  with  malversation,  disloyalty, 
and  even  contemplated  treason.  A  commissioner  was  finally  sent 
out  to  examine  into  these  alleged  frauds  and  misdemeanors  ;  and 
the  extraordinary  powers  with  which  it  was  necessary  to  clothe 
this  officer  were  conferred  upon  the  since  infamous  Bobadilla. 
His  first  use  of  the  authority  vested  in  him  was  to  send  Columbus 


ISABELLA.  151 

back  in  fetters  to  Spain,  having  previously  accumulated  against 
him  every  species  of  frivolous  or  outrageous  accusation.  Isabella, 
indignant  at  Bobadilla's  high-handed  transgression  of  his  prero- 
gative, sent  an  order  for  Columbus'  instant  release  ;  and  upon 
his  arrival  at  Granada,  where  the  court  was  then  residing,  sought 
by  every  gentle  means  which  the  heart  of  a  woman  or  the 
credit  of  a  queen  could  suggest  to  soothe  his  lacerated  feelings. 
The  sovereign  and  the  subject  mingled  their  tears  together. 
Columbus,  deeply  moved  by  this  display  of  sympathy,  fell  upon 
his  knees  and  wept  aloud.  Isabella  promised  him  that  justice 
should  be  meted  out  to  himself  and  his  detractors,  and  renewed 
her  engagement  to  legalize  the  transmission,  in  his  family,  of  the 
honors  and  titles  he  had  acquired. 

At  about  this  time,  Isabella's  heart  was  gladdened  by  an 
event  in  her  family  of  auspicious  promise — the  birth  to  her 
second  daughter,  Joanna,  and  her  husband  Philip,  Archduke  of 
Germany,  of  a  son,  whose  future  greatness  as  Charles  V.,  Em- 
peror of  Spain  and  Germany,  Isabella  was  the  first  to  predict. 
But  this  joy  was  soon  clouded  by  a  sad  domestic  affliction. 
Joanna  was  extravagantly  fond  of  her  handsome  and  courtly, 
but  frivolous  and  faithless  husband.  During  his  absence  in 
France,  whither  he  had  been  sent  by  Ferdinand  upon  a  mission 
to  Louis  XII.,  she  pined  for  him  in  the  most  doleful  manner, 
sitting  for  hours  together  upon  the  ground  in  unbroken  silence. 
Another  more  dangerous  freak,  indulged  in  for  the  first  time 
while  her  mother  was  absent,  was  to  repair  to  the  barrier  of  the 
castle  at  night,  thinly  clad,  and  remain  there  motionless  as  a 
statue  till  morning.  The  queen,  being  summoned  in  aU  haste, 
with  difficulty  prevailed  upon  her  to  return  to  her  apartment. 
Thus  was  Isabella  as  sorely  tried  in  her  living  children  as  she 
had  been  in  the  deaths  of  those  she  had  lost.  She  had  been 
compelled  to  deplore  the  untimely  fate  of  him  who  had  been 
educated  for  the  cares  of  state,  and  was  competent  to  bear  the 
burden  ;  a  relentless  destiny  now  called  upon  her  to  shed  fresh 


152  ISABELLA. 

tears  at  the  spectacle  of  the  insanity  of  her  upon  whom  the  suc- 
cession was  to  devolve.  Still,  in  the  midst  of  her  afflictions,  and 
despite  her  rapidly  failing  health,  slie  maintained  her  usual 
vigilant  supervision  of  the  interests  of  the  state.  A  historian  of 
the  time  compares  her  to  a  rock  upon  the  sea-shore,  receiving 
and  repelling  the  advances  of  the  tide  and  the  shocks  of  the 
waves. 

In  the  year  1503,  the  cortes,  alarmed  at  the  visihle  decay  of 
Isabella's  energies,  and  aware  of  the  increasing  incapacity  of 
Joanna,  memorialized  the  queen  in  favor  of  a  provision  for  the 
government  of  the  kingdom,  in  the  event  of  her  decease.  A 
momentary  revival  of  her  spirits  was  effectually  checked  by 
humiliating  tidings  from  Flanders,  whither  Joanna  had  gone 
to  rejoin  her  husband.  The  jealous  wife,  roused  to  frenzy  by 
the  open  attentions  of  Philip  to  one  of  her  own  ladies,  had 
assaulted  the  fair  object  of  his  devotion.  A  scandalous  scene, 
high  words,  and  finally  a  rupture  between  the  archduke  and 
Joanna  ensued.  These  disgraceful  occurrences  plunged  the 
sovereigns  into  deep  affliction.  They  both  fell  ill — Ferdinand 
with  the  army  in  Italy,  Isabella  at  Medina  del  Campo.  Though 
compelled  to  lie  prostrate  on  her  couch  the  greater  part  of  the 
day,  she  still  hstened  to  the  reading  of  papers  which  concerned 
the  state,  or,  raised  upon  a  cushion,  gave  audience  to  foreigners 
who  could  tell  her  of  the  war. 

Isabella  was  far  better  prepared  for  the  inevitable  change 
than  were  the  people  whose  passionate  admiration  she  had  won. 
They  awaited  in  trembling,  but  prayerful  anxiety  the  moment 
which  was  to  bereave  the  Spanish  nation.  They  remembered  an 
earthquake  and  a  hurricane  of  the  year  before,  and  connecting 
these  omens  with  the  now  impending  calamity,  sought  to  avert 
the  displeasure  of  heaven  by  masses,  pilgrimages  and  processions. 
Isabella,  retaining  her  self-possession  in  the  midst  of  the  affliction 
of  her  subjects,  executed,  on  the  1 2th  of  October,  her  memorable 
will  and  testament.    Commencing  by  directing  her  remains  to  be 


ISABELLA.  153 

consigned  to  the  Franciscan  monastery  in  the  Alhambra,  in  a 
humble  sepulchre  and  with  modest  ceremonies,  she  provided,  in 
order,  for  the  annual  marriage  of  a  certain  number  of  indigent 
girls  ;  for  the  ransom  of  Spaniards  held  in  bondage  in  Africa  ; 
for  the  payment  of  her  personal  debts  ;  and  for  a  necessary 
retrenchment  in  the  economy  of  the  palace.  She  recommended 
to  her  successors  the  urgent  importance  of  retaining  possession, 
for  ever,  of  that  key  to  the  Mediterranean,  the  fortress  of  Gibral- 
tar. She  settled  the  crown  upon  her  daughter  Joanna,  as  queen 
proprietor,  counselling  her  to  live  in  harmony  with  her  husband, 
and  instancing  as  an  example  of  conjugal  felicity,  her  own  long 
and  happy  life  with  Ferdinand.  The  latter  she  made  regent  of 
the  kingdom,  in  the  event  of  Joanna's  declared  incapacity,  until 
her  son  Charles  should  attain  his  majority.  She  then  fixed  a 
sum  for  her  husband's  personal  maintenance  ;  and  after  men- 
tioning by  name  the  most  attached  members  of  her  household, 
and  asking  for  them  the  beneficent  consideration  of  her  succes- 
sors, she  thus  concluded:  "I  beseech  the  king,  my  lord,  that  he 
will  accept  all  my  jewels,  or  such  as  he  shall  select,  so  that 
seeing  them,  he  may  be  reminded  of  the  singular  love  I  always 
bore  him  while  living,  and  that  I  am  now  waiting  for  him  in  a 
better  world  ;'  by  which  remembrance  he  may  be  encouraged  to 
live  the  more  justly  and  holily  in  this." 

Some  weeks  later,  and  but  three  weeks  before  her  death,  she 
added  a  codicil,  the  principal  articles  of  which  recommended  a 
new  codification  of  the  laws,  and  enjoined  upon  her  successors  an 
indulgent  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  colonies — some 
vague  hints  of  the  cruelties  practised  by  her  people  upon  the 
Indians  having  already  reached  her  ears.  Thus  having  devoted 
her  last  conscious  moments  to  the  service  of  the  people  whom 
Providence  had  committed  to  her  care,  and  thinking  a  sovereign's 
best  preparation  for  eternity  to  be  the  faithful  discharge  of 
her  temporal  responsibility,  she  expired,  in  the  midst  of  weep- 
ing friends,  on  the  26th  of  November,  1504,  having  passed  the 

20 


154  ISABELLA. 

fifty -third  year  of  her  age,  and  having  nearly  attained  the  thirtieth 
of  her  reign.  "The  world,"  wrote  Pierre  Martyr  on  the  same  day, 
"  has  lost  its  noblest  ornament;  a  loss  to  be  deplored  not  only 
by  Spain,  which  she  has  so  long  urged  onward  in  the  career 
of  glory,  but  by  every  nation  in  Christendom  ;  for  she  was  the 
mirror  of  every  virtue,  the  shield  of  the  innocent,  and  an  aveng- 
ing sword  to  the  wicked.  I  know  none  of  her  sex  in  ancient 
or  modern  times  who  is  at  all  worthy  to  be  named  with  this 
incomparable  woman."  Isabella's  mortal  remains  were  conveyed 
in  solemn  procession  to  Granada,  where,  in  the  midst  of  a  terrific 
warfare  of  the  elements,  they  were  deposited  in  the  vaults  of  the 
Franciscan  monastery.  Upon  the  death  of  Ferdinand,  they  were 
exhumed,  to  be  laid  side  by  side  with  his,  in  the  more  imposing 
shadows  of  the  cathedral  and  metropolitan  church. 

The  chroniclers  of  the  reign  of  Isabella,  and  even  the  more 
impartial  historians  of  a  later  date,  have  exhausted  the  language 
of  panegyric,  while  dwelling  ujDon  the  delightful  theme.  Her 
people  lamented  her  as  the  "most  brilliant  exemplar  of  every 
virtue  ;"  the  present  descendants  of  the  Spaniards  over  whom 
she  exercised  her  beneficent  sway,  look  back  to  her  administration 
as  the  brightest  page  in  the  history  of  their  country.  The  only 
blot  upon  her  character  was  the  surrender  of  her  conscience  to 
priestly  keeping.  Though  the  stain  with  which  the  Spanish 
name  has  been  sullied  by  the  introduction  of  the  Inquisition  and 
the  expulsion  of  the  Jews  can  never  be  effaced,  yet  the  customs 
of  the  age  in  ecclesiastical  affairs  may  authorize  the  biographers 
of  the  Queen  of  Castile  to  use  the  apologetic  expression,  that 
these  measures  were  resorted  to,  not  by  Isabella's  authority,  but 
during  Isabella's  reign. 


DIANA   DE   POITIERS. 


This  most  remarkable  of  royal  favorites,  the  daughter  of 
Jean  de  Poitiers,  Seigneur  de  St.  Vallier,  and  the  descendant 
of  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  Dauphiny  in  France,  was 
born  on  the  3d  of  September,  1499.  Of  her  early  life,  little 
has  been  preserved  ;  we  know,  however,  that  she  was  married 
at  the  age  of  thirteen,  to  Louis  de  Breze,  grand-s^n^chal  of 
Normandy,  and  grandson,  on  his  mother's  side,  of  Charles  YII. 
and  Agnes  Sorel.  She  lived  at  the  court  of  Francis  I.,  the 
most  gallant  monarch  of  his  time ;  during  the  life  of  her  hus- 
band, her  conduct  furnished  no  occasion  for  scandal. 

The  grand-senechal  died  in  1531  ;  his  widow  erected  a 
superb  monument  to  his  memory  in  the  church  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Rouen.  She  assumed  black  and  white  as  her  colors,  and 
during  her  long  and  chequered  life,  she  never  quitted  them. 
She  was  at  this  period  thirty-two  years  of  age  ;  Henry,  the  Duke 
of  Orleans,  the  second  son  of  Francis,  with  whom  the  fortunes 
of  Diana  were  to  be  so  intimately  connected,  had  just  entered 
his  thirteenth  year.  At  what  period  the  liaison  commenced, 
is  now  impossible  to  say  ;  but  it  was,  probably,  about  the  year 
1536,  Diana  being  then  at  the  age  when  female  beauty  usu- 
ally entei's   its    decline,  but  still   in    the    full    splendor    of  her 


156  DIANA    DE    POITIERS. 

charms.  The  Duke  of  Orleans  had  now  become  dauphin  by 
the  death  of  his  elder  brother,  Francis  ;  and  Diana,  we  are 
told,  finding  in  him  an  awkward,  shy  youth  of  seventeen,  un- 
dertook to  form  his  character  and  manners  on  the  model  of 
the   preux  chevalier. 

She  soon  inspired  him  with  an  ardent  and  romantic  pas- 
sion. The  ascendant  thus  acquired  by  personal  beauty,  was 
confirmed  by  the  fascination  of  her  manners  and  address. 
She  was  thus  brought  into  direct  rivalry  with  the  Duchess 
d'Etampes,  the  favorite  of  the  king.  The  court  was  at  once 
divided  into  two  parties,  and  scandalous  and  violent  scenes 
often  sprang  from  the  animosities  created.  The  duchess  was 
ten  years  younger  than  Diana,  and  her  partisans  gratified  her 
vanity  by  applying  to  her  rival  the  elegant  epithet  of  "old 
wrinkly."  The  attachment  of  the  dauphin  was  in  no  wise 
weakened  by  these  assaults,  and  at  a  tournament  held  in  1541, 
he  assumed  Diana's  colors,  and  entered  the  lists  as  her  cham- 
pion.    This  act  of  gallantry  was  thus  celebrated  in  verse  : 

"  Dn  chevalier  royal  j  a  dressS  sa  tente, 
Et  sert  de  coeur  loyal  une  dame  cxcellente, 
Dont  le  nom  gracieux  n'est  ja  besoin  d'ecrire, 
n  est  6crit  aux  cieux,  et  de  nuit  se  peut  lire." 

During  the  height  of  his  passion,  Henry  married,  from  mo- 
tives of  policy,  the  beautiful  Catherine  do  Medicis,  then  eigh- 
teen years  old.  Her  youthful  charms  did  not  detach  him 
from  the  resplendent-  favorite,  and  when,  upon  the  death  of 
Francis,  he  ascended  the  throne,  he  shared  it  rather  with  his 
mistress  than  his  wife.  Diana's  influence  was  unbounded,  and 
her  employment  of  it  unscrupulous.  She  caused  the  exile  of 
the  Duchess  d'Etampes,  and  appropriated  her  diamonds  to  her 
own  use.  The  crown  jewels  were  worn  exclusively  by  her. 
Henry  adopted  as  his  motto  the  words,  donec  totum  impleat 
ORBEM — meaning  Uterally,   "until  she    attain  her   plenitude" — 


D  I  A  N  A    D  E    P  0  I  T  I  E  R  S .  157 

aud  referring  to  the  mythologic  Diana.  He  caused  his  royal 
H  to  be  entwined-  with  her  patrician  D  upon  the  sculptured 
fa9ade  of  the  Louvre  and  upon  the  frescoes  at  Fontainebleau. 
The  constraint  in  which  the  young  queen  was  compelled  to 
live  during  the  reign  of  Diana,  the  habit  of  reserve  and  dis- 
simulation which  she  acquired  during  the  long  triumph  of 
her  rival,  are  believed  to  have  contributed  to  form  the  terri- 
ble Machiavehan  character  which  has  made  Catherine  de  Medicis 
so  infamous  in  history. 

In  the  year  1548,  the  king  bestowed  upon  Diana  the  duchy 
of  Valentinois,  with  the  right  to  assume  the  title.  He  also  gave 
her  a  privilege  known  as  the  "right  of  confirmation,"  which 
empowered  her  to  renew,  upon  his  accession  to  the  throne,  and 
upon  the  payment  of  certain  sums,  the  tenures  of  all  those  who 
held  office  under  the  crown.  Francis  I.  had  accorded  this  privi- 
lege to  his  mother  ;  and  the  subjects  of  Henry  murmured  some- 
what at  his  very  different  bestowment  of  the  revenue.  Diana 
applied  the  funds  accruing  from  this  source  to  the  embellishment 
of  her  patrimonial  estate  of  Anet,  a  lovely  country  seat  which 
the  poets  of  her  time  celebrated  under  the  name  of  Dianet. 
Philibert  Delorme  was  her  architect,  and  his  sumptuous  taste 
soon  rendered  the  seigneurial  chateau  worthy  of  what  it  soon 
became — a  royal  residence.  The  pope,  desirous  of  paying  court 
to  the  young  king,  sent  presents  at  this  period  both  to  Catherine 
and  Diana,  making,  however,  a  delicate  discrimination  in  his 
choice  of  gifts  :  to  Catherine  he  gave  a  blessed  rose,  and  to 
Diana  a  string  of  costly  pearls.  The  latter  strove  to  deserve  the 
pontifical  favor  by  the  zeal  which  she  exhibited  against  the 
heretics  ;  and  more  than  once  contemplated,  in  company  with  her 
cruel  and  intolerant  lover,  the  heroic  martyrdom  of  Lutherans 
at  the  stake.  She  was  an  ardent  Catholic,  and  all  the  Calvinistic 
writers  of  the  period  attribute  to  her  influence  a  large  portion  of 
the  persecutions  which  the  Protestants  endured. 

Diana  had  now  entered  her  fiftieth  year  ;   her  empire  over 


158  DIANA    DE    POITIERS. 

the  king  had  suffered  no  diminution,  and  her  charms  were  still 
those  of  a  woman  of  twenty-five.  To  account  for  a  fact  so  extra- 
ordinary, her  enemies  invented  a  story  to  the  effect  that  she 
dealt  in  the  black  ai't,  and  that  she  was  indebted  for  her  jjeren- 
nial  youth  to  potions  compounded  by  unholy  hands.  One  or 
two  historians  of  the  time,  who  have  left  works  otherwise  worthy 
of  credit,  have  not  hesitated  to  assert  their  belief  in  this  singular 
superstition.  But  Diana's  magic  was  one  which  any  lady  may 
practise  without  endangering  her  soul — the  magic  of  amiability, 
regular  habits  and  vigorous  exercise. 

She  has  been  thus  described  by  a  historian  of  the  reign  of 
Francis  I. :  "Her  features  were  regular  and  classical ;  her  com- 
plexion was  faultless  ;  her  hair  of  a  rich  purple  black,  which 
took  a  golden  tint  in  the  sunshine  ;  while  her  teeth,  her  ankles, 
her  hands  and  arms,  and  her  bust,  were  each  in  their  turn  the 
theme  of  the  court  poets.  That  the  extraordinary  and  almost 
fabulous  duration  of  her  beauty  was  in  a  great  degree  due  to  the 
precautions  which  she  adopted,  there  can  be  little  doubt,  for  she 
spared  no  effort  to  secure  it.  She  was  jealously  careful  of  her 
health,  and  in  the  most  severe  weather  bathed  in  cold  water  ; 
she  suffered  no  cosmetic  to  approach  her,  denouncing  every 
compound  of  the  kind  as  worthy  only  of  those  to  whom  nature 
had  been  so  niggardly  as  to  compel  them  to  complete  her  im- 
perfect work.  She  rose  every  morning  at  six  o'clock,  and  had 
no  sooner  left  her  chamber  than  she  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and 
after  having  galloped  a  league  or  two,  returned  to  bed,  where 
she  remained  until  mid-day,  engaged  in  reading.  The  system 
appears  a  singular  one  ;  but  in  her  case  it  undoubtedly  proved 
successful.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  magnificent  Diana 
owed  no  small  portion  of  the  extraordinary  and  unprecedented 
constancy  of  the  king  to  the  charms  of  her  mind  and  the  bril- 
liancy of  her  intellect." 

Diana,  who  liad  borne  two  daughters  to  her  husband,  is  said 
to  have  had  one  by  King  Henry.    It  is  also  alleged  that  the  king 


DIANA    DE    POITIERS.  159 

wished  to  take  the  necessary  steps  for  acknowledging  the  infant, 
but  that  Diana  prevented  him  by  saying :  "I  was  born  to  have 
legitimate  children  by  you ;  I  have  been  your  mistress  because 
I  loved  you  ;  but  I  will  not  suffer  any  decree  to  declare  me  so." 
On  the  10th  of  July,  1559,  a  tournament  took  place  at  Paris, 
in  honor  of  a  royal  marriage  celebrated  there  by  proxy.  Henry, 
who  in  all  exercises  requiring  bodily  strength  and  personal 
address  had  no  sui3erior  at  court,  insisted  on  breaking  a  lance 
with  the  Count  de  Montgomery,  the  most  skillful  jouster  among 
his  subjects.  Montgomery  entered  the  lists  with  apparent,  in- 
deed confessed,  reluctance.  Henry  wore,  as  usual,  the  colors 
of  Diana.  The  lance  of  the  count  broke  against  the  king's 
helmet,  whereupon  he  renewed  the  assault  with  the  stump. 
It  entered  Henry's  right  eye,  instantly  depriving  him  of  sight, 
speech,  and  consciousness.  The  monarch  was  conveyed  to  his 
palace,  where  he  remained  insensible  for  eleven  days.  When 
it  was  evident  that  he  could  not  survive,  Catherine  de  Medicis 
sent  a  message  to  Diana  to  quit  the  palace  and  return  to 
her  the  crown  jewels  in  her  possession.  "Is  the  king  dead?" 
asked  Diana  of  the  messenger.  The  latter  replied  that  he 
was  not,  but  that  he  could  not  live  through  the  day.  ' '  I 
have  no  master  yet,  then,"  she  replied  ;  "let  my  enemies  know 
that  I  fear  them  not ;  when  the  king  dies,  I  shall  be  too 
much  occupied  in  my  grief  at  his  loss  to  pay  heed  to  the  in- 
sults which  they  may  heap  upon  me."  The  king  expired  that 
evening,  and  Diana,  knowing  full  well  that  her  credit  and  po- 
sition fell  with  him,  retired  gracefully  to  Anet,  where  she 
lived  tranquilly  during  the  remainder  of  her  Ufe.  Catherine, 
content  with  having  driven  her  from  the  court,  abstained  from 
any  further  persecution.  The  exiled  favorite  spent  her  time 
and  her  means  in  deeds  of  charity  and  beneficence.  She 
foimded  hospitals  for  the  sick,  and  an  asylum  for  widows  and 
orphans.  She  died  in  April,  1566,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven 
years.      She   retained   her   beauty  to  the  last.      "Six   months 


160  DIANA    DE    POITIERS. 

before  her  death,"  says  Brantume,  "  I  saw  her  so  handsome, 
that  no  heart  of  adamant  could  have  been  insensible  to  her 
charms,  though  she  had  some  time  before  broken  one  of  her 
limbs  upon  the  paired  stones  of  Orleans.  She  had  been  riding 
on  horseback,  and  kept  her  seat  as  dexterously  and  well  as  she 
had  ever  done.  One  would  have  thought  that  the  pain  of 
such  an  accident  would  have  made  some  alteration  in  her  love- 
ly fiice  ;  but  this  was  not  the  case  ;  she  was  as  beautiful,  as 
graceful,  and  handsome  in  every  respect  as  she  had  ever  been." 

Diana  was  the  only  royal  favorite  to  whom  numismatic 
honors  were  paid  by  the  mints  of  France.  The  city  of  Lyons, 
where  she  was  much  beloved,  struck  a  medal  to  her  memory ; 
upon  one  side  was  her  profile,  with  the  words,  Diana,  dux 
Valentinorum  clarissima  ;  and  on  the  reverse  her  device. 
Omnium  Victorem  Vici.  This  has  been  erroneously  supposed 
to  refer  to  Henry  II.,  but  it  is  not  likely  that  Diana  would 
have  strained  the  language  of  com23liment  so  far  as  to  style 
her  very  un warlike  lord  "the  conqueror  of  the  world."  It 
is  to  be  otherwise  interpreted.  She  had  assumed  the  sym- 
bols of  Diana  at  the  commencement  of  her  liaison  with  the 
prince,  and  proclaimed  defiance  to  malice  by  adopting  a  motto 
'which  asserted  her  to  be,  like  her  prototype,  invulnerable  to  the 
shafts  of  that  other  warrior  and  conqueror,  Cupid.  She  thus 
intimated  her  scorn  of  terrestrial  love.  It  was  this  construc- 
tion which  the  engravers  of  Lyons  intended  to  be  placed  upon 
the  inscription.  Diana  succeeded,  by  her  high  birth,  exalted 
connections,  her  ardent  orthodoxy,  and,  more  than  all,  by  her 
matronly  age,  at  least  in  overawing  reproach,  if  not  in  silenc- 
ing sliuuler.  Her  reply  to  the  king,  in  regard  to  the  public 
acknowledgment  of  their  daughter,  shows  her  to  have  been 
conscious  of  the  innate  superiority  of  virtue  over  vice.  Her 
life  was  a  remarkable  tribute,  rendered  by  one  whose  celebrity 
and  position  were  due  to  her  frailty,  to  the  dignity  of  recti- 
tude and  the  supremacy  of  moral  worth. 


ANNE     BOLEYN. 


The  birth  of  this  most  unhappy  of  women  and  of  queens 
took  place  in  Norfolk,  England,  and,  probably,  in  the  year 
1501 — a  date  more  plausible  than  that  usually  given,  1507. 
The  family  of  Anne  Boleyn  was  of  French  oi'igin,  and  the 
name,  before  it  underwent  mutilation  to  suit  English  ears,  was 
BuUeyne.  One  of  her  ancestors  was  knighted  at  the  corona- 
tion of  Richard  III.,  and  her  father,  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  was 
brought  into  contact  with  the  court  of  Henry  VII.  by  the 
marriage  of  his  brother-in-law.  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  with 
Anne  Plantagenet,  the  sister  of  the  queen.  Lady  Boleyn, 
Anne's  mother,  was  one  of  the  reigning  beauties  of  the  com-t 
of  Katharine  of  Aragon,  the  first  wife  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 

Anne  was  educated  under  the  supervision  of  her  mother, 
till  the  death  of  the  latter  in  1512.  She  was  then  confided 
to  the  care  of  a  Trench  governess,  named  Simonette,  and  be- 
came, at  an  early  age,  a  proficient  in  music,  needlework,  and 
epistolary  composition.  She  corresponded  with  her  father, 
who  was  usually  absent  at  the  court,  both  in  English  and 
French.  These  accomplishments,  unusual  in  one  of  her  sex, 
caused  her  to  be  selected,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  as  one  of 
the  maids  of  honor   to   Mary  Tudor,   King  Henry's  youngest 

21  161 


162  AN  N  E    B  0  LE  YN. 

sister,  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage  with  Louis  the  Twelfth 
of  France.  The  ceremony  was  solemnized  at  Greenwich,  in 
August,  1514,  and  in  September,  the  royal  party  proceeded 
to  Dover,  where  they  were  to  embark  for  France.  The  equi- 
noctial gales  delayed  them  a  month,  and  when  at  last  they 
ventured  upon  the  Channel  during  a  lull  of  the  storm,  it  was 
to  undergo  all  the  hardships  incident  to  a  tempestuous  passage 
of  that  boisterous  frith.  The  exhausted  voyagers  at  last  made 
the  harbor  of  Boulogne,  where  they  were  received,  wet  and 
weary  as  they  were,  by  a  gorgeous  throng  of  princes  and  pre- 
lates. After  a  series  of  pageants,  in  which  the  maid  of  honor, 
though  not  yet  sixteen,  appears  to  have  attracted  notice,  in  her 
crimson  velvet  robes,  the  jealous  king  dismissed  all  the  Eng- 
lish attendants  of  his  queen,  both  male  and  female,  with  the 
exception  of  Anne  Boleyn  and  two  other  ladies.  The  motive 
for  Anne's  detention  is  believed  to  have  been  her  knowledge 
of  the  French  language,  and  perhaps,  too,  her  French  extraction. 
Little  is  known  of  her  residence  at  the  court  of  Louis  XII. ; 
it  is  even  alleged  that  the  king's  captious  exclusion  of  the  queen's 
English  retinue,  finally  extended  to  her,  and  that  she  retired 
to  a  convent  in  the  village  of  Brie,  to  complete  her  educa- 
tion. Upon  the  death  of  Louis,  she  entered  the  service  of  his 
daughter,  Claude,  now  the  queen  of  Francis  I.  This  amiable, 
but  austere  princess  zealously  sought  to  fix  the  thoughts  of 
her  ladies  upon  devotional  and  religious  topics.  She  spent 
much  time  in  processions  and  genuflexions,  and  forbade  her 
maids  of  honor  to  converse  or  associate  with  gentlemen,  ex- 
cept on  occasions  of  festivity,  when,  such  conversation  being 
public  and  observed  by  all,  no  scandal  could  attach  to  it. 
Anne's  character  had  by  this  time  been  formed,  and  her  lively 
temperament  and  volatile  humor  seem  to  have  been  in  no 
wise  consulted  in  these  ascetic  regulations.  A  contemporary 
chronicler  thus  speaks  of  her  at  this  period:  "She  possessed 
great  poetic  talent,  and  when  she  sang,  like  a  second  Orpheus, 


ANNEBOLEYN.  163 

she  would  have  made  bears  and  wolves  attentive.  She  like- 
wise danced  the  English  dances,  skipping  and  jumping  with 
infinite  ease  and  agility.  Besides  singing  like  a  syren,  she  ac- 
companied herself  on  the  lute,  and  harped  better  than  King 
David.  She  dressed  with  marvellous  taste,  and  devised  new 
modes,  which  were  followed  by  the  fairest  ladies  of  the  court ; 
but  none  wore  them  with  her  grace,  in  which  she  rivalled 
Vemis."  Though  she  is  not  mentioned  as  one  of  the  witnesses 
of  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  her  presence  there,  in  the 
retinue  of  the  queen,  can  hardly  be  doubted.  It  is,  neverthe- 
less, quite  certain  that  Henry  and  Anne  did  not  meet  upon 
the  plain  of  Ardres,  and  that  the  period  at  which  their  romantic 
and  sombre  histories  intermingle  was  somewhat  subsequent  to 
the  epoch  of  the  interview  of  the  two  courts. 

Late  in  the  year  1521,  a  dispute  between  Sir  Thomas  Bo- 
leyn  and  the  male  heirs  of  the  family  of  the  Butlers,  in  refe- 
rence to  an  inheritance,  rose  to  such  a  height  that  it  reached 
the  ears  of  the  king  ;  to  whom  a  suggestion  was  made,  that 
the  surest  method  of  effecting  a  reconciliation  and  setthng  all 
difficulties,  would  be  to  marry  the  children  of  the  contestants 
— Anne  Boleyn  and  Piers  Butler.  Henry  concurred  in  the 
suggestion,  and  in  November,  instructed  Cardinal  Wolsey  to 
negotiate  the  alliance  in  question.  Anne  was  at  once  recalled 
from  France,  and,  though  certainly  at  an  age  when  a  woman, 
though  she  may  not  have  disposed  of  her  hand,  has  often 
lost  the  control  over  her  affections,  arrived  in  London  appa- 
rently free  from  trammels  of  every  nature.  The  king  first 
met  her  by  accident  in  her  father's  garden  ;  a  casual  conver- 
sation ensued,  in  which  Henry  was  charmed  by  her  beauty, 
her  grace,  and  the  sprightly  animation  of  her  discourse.  He 
returned  to  Westminster  with  her  praises  upon  his  lips,  assert- 
ing to  Wolsey  that  she  had  the  wit  of  an  angel,  and  was  worthy 
of  a  crown.  The  astute  prelate  saw  in  his  sovereign's  fasci- 
nation the  means  of  luring  him  away  from  the  cares  of  state 


164  ANNE    BOLEYN. 

— which  would  thus  fall  more  completely  within  his  own  con- 
trol ;  he  conceived  the  idea  of  engrossing  the  king  in  the  in- 
toxication of  an  intrigue,  and,  in  fui'therance  of  his  scheme, 
suggested  the  appointment  of  Anne  Boleyn  as  maid  of  honor 
to  Queen  Katharine. 

She  was  soon  presented  at  court,  and  her  rare  and  admirable 
beauty  soon  fixed  the  attention  of  the  king.  The  inconstant 
sovereign  had  previously  admired  Anne's  sister  Mary,  who  was 
incomparably  the  more  dehcate  and  feminine  of  the  two.  The 
vivacity  and  wit  of  the  former,  however,  the  spirit  of  her  conver- 
sation, and  the  sprightliness  of  her  demeanor — social  graces 
acquired  at  the  French  court — rendered  her  infinitely  more 
attractive  to  the  pampered  taste  of  the  monarch.  He  soon 
became  enamored  of  her,  though  he  concealed  the  state  of  his 
feelings  from  others,  and  indeed,  as  his  apologists  maintain,  from 
himself.  Anne,  in  the  meantime,  disregarding  the  motive  for 
which  she  had  been  recalled  from  France,  paid  no  heed  to  the 
contemplated  alliance  between  herself  and  Piers  Butler  ;  on  the 
contrary,  she  allowed  and  encouraged  the  advances  of  Henry, 
Lord  Percy,  the  heir  of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  ;  after  a 
brief  courtship,  the  young  lover  attained  a  promise  of  marriage 
from  the  willing  maid  of  honor. 

It  is  proper  to  remark  here,  in  dissenting  from  the  ojDinion 
held  by  the  majority  of  Catholic  writers,  that  Anne  sought  to 
beguile  the  king,  and  was  herself  the  first  mover  in  the  intrigue 
which  ensued — that  we  have  every  reason  to  believe  her  love  for 
Percy  to  have  been  her  only  genuine  attachment ;  it  is  unlikely, 
therefore,  that  at  this  period,  when  she  was  seriously  enamored, 
and  before  her  ambition  had  been  awakened  by  a  contemplation 
of  her  possible  elevation,  she  would  have  wittingly  sought  to 
alienate  the  affections  of  her  lover  by  imdue  dalliance  with 
the  king  ;  and  we  surely  have  no  reason  to  sujjpose  her  already 
so  versed  in  artifice  as  to  have  remarked  her  sovereign's  passion, 
and  to  have  plighted  her  troth  to  Percy  merely  to  compel  him  to 


ANNEBOLEYN.  165 

a  declaration.  As  to  King  Henry  himself,  it  is  impossible  to 
accept  the  theory  maintained  by  his  defenders,  that  he  was 
unconsciously  captivated,  and  unaware  of  the  emotions  incon- 
sistent with  his  duty  as  a  married  man  with  which  he  regarded 
her.  That  Corydon  and  Daphnis  may  have  been  in  love  without 
knowing  it,  we  can  readily  believe  upon  the  testimony  of  the 
poets  and  after  a  proper  consultation  of  bucolic  literature  ;  but 
that  Henry  VIII.  was  ever  ignorant  of  any  passion  which  burned 
in  his  bosom,  few  readers  acquainted  with  the  history  of  his 
reign  will  admit.  The  monarch  who  quarrels  with  the  Pope, 
that  he  may  repudiate  one  wife  and  take  another,  who  makes  a 
cardinal  the  abettor  of  his  intrigues  and  the  headsman  the  instru- 
ment of  his  lusts,  may  safely  be  supposed,  from  the  energy  with 
which  he  pursues  his  designs,  to  have  consciously  formed  them 
and  to  have  deliberately  resolved  upon  their  execution. 

Upon  the  announcement  of  their  intended  marriage,  Henry 
resolved  to  separate  Percy  and  Anne,  and  commissioned  Wolsey 
to  annul  the  engagement.  The  cardinal  summoned  Percy  to  his 
presence,  and  threatened  him  with  the  displeasure  of  the  king 
for  contemplating  a  union  with  a  person  so  much  beneath  him, 
and  likewise  intimated  the  probability  of  his  disinheritance  by 
his  father.  The  unfortunate  young  man  was  subsequently  dis- 
missed from  court,  and  compelled  to  marry  Lady  Mary  Talbot, 
to  whom  he  had  been,  some  time  previously,  involuntarily 
contracted.  Anne,  too,  was  discharged  from  Queen  Katharine's 
service  by  order  of  the  king,  who  was  unwarrantably  piqued 
at  the  attachment  she  had  manifested  to  Percy.  She  withdrew 
to  her  father's  house  at  Hever,  threatening  vengeance  upon  the 
cardinal,  to  whose  interference  she  attributed  her  blighted  pros- 
pects. The  sequel  will  show  with  what  unrelenting  purpose  she 
pursued  the  object  of  her  animosity. 

The  king  suffered  several  weeks  to  elapse  before  he  again 
sought  the  society  of  Anne  Boleyn,  and  then  paid  an  unan- 
nounced visit  to  Hever  Castle.     Had  Anne  been  playing  a  j^art. 


166  AN  N  E    B  0  LE  YN. 

and  had  her  object  been  to  insnare  the  affections  of  Henry, 
she  would  have  profited  by  the  present  opportunity  of  effecting  a 
reconcihation.  So  far  from  this,  she  pleaded  indisposition,  and 
locked  herself  up  in  her  chamber,  where  she  remained  during 
his  stay.  All  efforts  to  see  her  proving  unavailing,  the  king 
took  measures  to  compel  the  return  of  her  family  to  court.  He 
appointed  her  father  to  the  office  of  treasurer  to  the  royal  house- 
hold, with  the  title  of  Viscount  Rocheford,  and  made  William 
Carey,  the  husband  of  her  sister  Mary,  a  gentleman  of  the  privy 
chamber.  A  present  of  jewels  to  the  fair  Anne  herself,  and 
at  last  an  avowal,  in  unmistakable  terms,  followed  in  quick 
succession.  Anne  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  thus  addressed  her 
sovereign  :  "  I  think,  most  noble  and  worthy  king,  your  majesty 
speaks  these  words  in  mirth  to  prove  me,  without  intent  of 
degrading  your  princely  self.  I  beseech  your  highness  most 
earnestly  to  desist  and  take  this  my  answer,  which  I  speak  from 
the  depth  of  my  soul,  in  good  part.  Most  noble  king  !  I  will 
rather  lose  my  life  than  my  virtue,  which  will  be  the  greatest 
and  best  part  of  the  dowry  I  shall  bring  my  husband." 

Henry,  fully  aware  that  a  repulse  so  energetic  left  him  no 
resource  but  to  retire,  abandoned  the  attempt  for  the  time, 
adding  the  assurance,  however,  that  he  should  continue  to  hope, 
"  I  know  not,"  she  returned,  "  how  you  should  retain  such  hope, 
most  mighty  king.  Your  wife  I  cannot  be,  both  in  respect  of 
mine  own  unworthiness,  and  also  because  you  have  a  queen 
already;  your  mistress  I  will  not  be."  Anne  now  withdrew 
from  the  court,  to  which  no  persuasions  could  induce  her  to 
return.  Henry  wrote  to  her  constantly,  and  the  originals,  in 
bad  French,  which  are  still  in  existence  in  the  library  of  the 
Vatican,  bear  witness  to  the  ardor  of  his  passion  and  to  the 
continued  indifference  with  which  Anne  received  his  advances. 
She  even  left  England  and  spent  a  year  in  France,  amid  the 
festivities  consequent  upon  the  liberation  of  Francis  I.  from  his 
incarceration  in  Madrid.      She  returned  in  1527,  and  after  an 


ANNE    BOLEYN.  167 

alienation  of  four  years,  resumed  her  place  in  the  household  of 
Queen  Katharine. 

A  marked  change  was  now  observed  in  her  conduct,  result- 
ing, naturally,  from  a  corresponding  change  in  her  character. 
She  was  now  twenty-six  years  of  age  ;  she  had  loved  but  once, 
and  had  been  cruelly  disappointed  ;  time,  which  had  doubtless 
calmed  her  regrets  for  the  loss  of  her  lover,  had  deepened  and 
intensified  her  hatred  for  the  prelate  to  whom  she  attributed  her 
misfortunes.  Ambition  and  revenge  were  now  her  ruling  pas- 
sions ;  and  she  lived  to  gratify  both.  She  received  the  king's 
renewed  addresses  with  smiles,  and  confident  of  her  power  over 
the  sovereign,  began  to  treat  the  cardinal-secretary  with  scorn. 
Henry,  convinced  that  Anne  could  only  be  won  as  a  wife,  set  on 
foot  the  intrigues  which  resulted  in  his  divorce  from  the  queen. 
Hypocritically  alleging,  at  first,  that  his  conscience  was  sorely 
grieved  by  his  marriage  with  his  brother's  widow,  and  at  last 
openly  calling  for  an  ecclesiastical  inquiry  into  the  validity  of 
their  union,  he  pressed  the  subject  with  an  impatient  zeal  which 
shocked  even  the  most  unscrupulous  of  his  courtiers. 

In  the  midst  of  these  prehminaries,  a  terrible  pestilence 
which  broke  out  in  London,  and  which  was  fatal  to  several 
members  of  the  royal  household,  recalled  Henry  to  a  sense  of 
his  iniquities,  and  alarmed  him  into  a  temporary  reconciUation 
with  his  wife.  He  even  sent  Anne  Boleyn  back  to  Hever, 
and  spent  his  time  in  exercises  of  devotion  and  in  compound- 
ing specifics  against  the  plague.  He  confessed  his  sins  once 
a  day,  and  during  the  prevalence  of  the  epidemic,  made  thirty- 
nine  wills.  But  with  the  disappearance  of  the  disease,  his 
equanimity  returned,  he  abandoned  his  pharmaceutical  studies, 
summoned  Anne  back  to  court,  and  discontinued  his  reli- 
gious avocations.  At  last  the  Pope's  envoy,  the  cardinal-legate 
Campeggio,  arrived.  He  was  won  over  by  Katharine  to  espouse 
her  cause,  and  Wolsey,  his  colleague,  finding  that  the  humi- 
liation of  the  queen   would   be  followed   by  the  elevation  of 


168  ANNE    BOLEYN. 

his  dissembling  enemy,  Anne,  contrived,  by  a  dexterous  and 
lavish  exei'cise  of  his  diplomatic  craft,  to  interpose  a  constant 
succession  of  obstacles  to  the  proceedings  for  a  divorce. 

The  queen  was  now  sent  to  Greenwich,  and  Anne  was 
established  in  a  splendid  mansion  known  as  Suffolk-house,  to 
which  the  king  had  unobserved  access  through  the  contiguous 
palace  of  the  cardinal.  Here  she  held  daily  levees,  and  in- 
dulged, prospectively,  in  aU  the  parade  and  pleasures  of  royalty. 
Her  position  was  now  worse  than  equivocal ;  scandal  was  busy 
with  her  name  and  fame,  and  the  reports  of  the  foreign  am- 
bassadors to  their  respective  cabinets  represented  her  intimacy 
with  the  king  as  having  reached  all  possible  limits.  Crowds 
of  riotous  people  paraded  the  streets,  shouting  "  Down  with 
Nan  Bullen !  We  won't  have  Nan  Bullen  for  our  queen !" 
The  sympathy  of  the  courts  of  Europe  had  plainly  been  pro- 
nounced for  Katharine,  and  for  a  time  Henry  wavered  in  the 
prosecution  of  his  schemes. 

Months  and  even  years  passed,  and  the  great  question, 
though  stiU  agitated  at  Rome  and  in  the  universities  of  Eu- 
rope, remained  unsettled.  Wolsey  fell,  through  Anne's  resent- 
ment, and  Cranmer  rose  to  power,  through  her  influence  ex- 
erted in  his  behalf.  In  her  thirty-first  year,  she  was  created 
a  peeress  of  the  realm,  with  the  title  of  Marchioness  of  Pem- 
broke. A  gi'and  ceremony  was  performed  in  honor  of  this 
event,  in  which  the  king  placed  the  robe  of  state  and  the 
golden  coronet  upon  the  shoulders  and  brow  of  the  expectant 
queen.  The  real  queen,  during  this  time,  was  residing  at  Ampt- 
hill  in  Bedfordshire,  separated  from  her  only  daughter,  virtu- 
ally divorced  from  her  husband,  and  deprived  of  the  respect 
and  deference  due  to  her  not  only  as  a  queen,  but  as  a  mo- 
ther and  a  wife. 

In  1532,  Henry  crossed  the  English  Channel  to  Boulogne, 
to  confer  with  Francis  I.  Anne  accompanied  him,  and  was 
present  at  the  congress.      She  was  greatly  mortified,  upon  the 


AN  N  E    B  0  LE  YN.  169 

arrival  of  the  French  king,  to  find  him  unattended  by  any  of 
the  ladies  of  his  court — a  fact  which  aflbrdcd  palpable  evi- 
dence of  the  suspicion  with  which  she  was  regarded.  She 
was  consequently  unable  to  appear  at  any  of  the  festivities 
offered  to  the  English  monarch. 

Shortly  after  their  return  to  England,  Henry  and  Anne 
were  united  in  marriage.  The  ceremony  took  place  privately, 
in  an  empty  attic  in  the  west  turret  of  Whitehall,  on  the 
25th  of  January,  1533.  The  royal  chaplain  had  been  sum- 
moned thither  to  perform  a  mass,  and,  upon  his  arrival,  found 
the  king  and  Anne  Boleyn  awaiting  him  ;  three  witnesses  were 
also  present — Henry  Norris  and  Heneage,  grooms  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  Anne  Saville,  the  bride's  train-bearer.  The  chaiDlain 
expressing  some  hesitation  to  celebrate  the  rites  of  marriage 
under  such  auspices,  Henry  easily  reassured  him,  either  by  the 
promise  of  a  vacant  bishopric  or  by  the  assui'ance  that  he 
had  received  the  papal  authorization.  The  king's  counsellors 
were  totally  ignorant  of  the  step  thus  taken  by  their  royal 
master.  Cranmer  himself  remained  in  ignorance  of  the  mar- 
riage till  about  the  10th  of  February.  It  was  soon  evident, 
however,  that  a  prolonged  maintenance  of  the  secret  would 
affect  the  legitimacy  of  Anne's  expected  offspring — the  heir 
to  the  crown.  The  marriage  was  therefore  publicly  solemnized 
on  the  12th  of  April  ;  and  on  the  8th  of  May,  Cranmer,  pre- 
siding at  a  tribimal  held  at  Dunstable,  pronounced  the  inva- 
lidity of  the  king's  previous  union  with  Katharine  of  Aragon. 
This  declaration  naturally  rendered  a  decree  of  divorce  un- 
necessary. 

The  first  pageant  in  honor  of  the  new  queen,  and  prelimi- 
nary to  the  coronation,  took  place  upon  the  Thames,  on  the  19th 
of  May.  The  purpose  was  to  fetch  the  queen  in  state  from 
Greenwich  to  the  Tower  ;  the  lord  mayor's  barge,  the  bachelors' 
barge,  the  barges  of  the  city  craftsmen,  fifty  in  number,  all  orna- 
mented with  colored  flags  hung  with  bells,  rowed  chiming  and 


170  ANNE    BOLE  YN. 

tinkling  up  the  river  to  Greenwich  palace.  The  barge  furnished 
by  the  worshiijful  craft  of  the  haberdashers,  was  a  gun-boat, 
armed  with  inoffensive  culverins,  and  manned  by  worthy  clothiers 
and  tailors  disguised  as  fire-monsters  and  "salvages  terrible  to 
behold."  A  pyrotechnic  dragon,  stationed  upon  the  deck,  spirted 
fire  from  a  revolving  tail,  while  his  sartorial  attendants  vomited 
flames  from  their  mouths  into  the  river.  From  time  to  time, 
a  culverin,  loaded  by  some  draper  less  expei'i  with  the  ramrod 
than  the  yard-stick,  filled  the  air  with  echoes  and  the  floating 
spectators  with  awe.  The  queen  entered  her  barge  at  the  palace, 
and  was  attended  in  state  to  the  Tower,  where  a  peal  of  ordnance, 
shot  off"  at  the  command  of  the  king,  announced  her  arrival  at 
the  fortress.  Henry  received  her  with  a  kiss,  and  dismissed  the 
lord  mayor  with  thanks.  The  barges  floated  about  before  the 
Tower  the  whole  evening,  and  as  darkness  descended  over 
the  river,  the  capering  dragon  and  his  fieiy  tail,  together  with 
the  mcendiary  haberdashers  and  their  hissing  coruscations,  per- 
formed their  antics  to  an  audience  which  covered  the  bosom  of 
the  water,  and  swarmed  over  the  bridges,  turrets  and  gateways 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  fantastic  scene. 

The  next  pageant  was  that  of  the  royal  progress  through  the 
city,  on  the  eve  of  the  coronation.  The  streets  of  the  city  were 
spread  with  gravel ;  Cornhill  and  Cheapside  were  hung  with 
crimson  and  scarlet,  and  with  cloth  of  gold  and  velvet.  Anne 
was  seated  in  an  open  litter  which  was  covered  with  white  and 
gold  cloth,  and  supported  by  two  palfreys,  enveloped  in  white 
damask  and  led  by  the  queen's  footmen.  She  herself  was 
dressed  in  silver  tissue,  lined  with  ermine  ;  a  canopy  of  cloth  of 
gold,  carried  by  four  knights  on  foot,  was  borne  over  her  head. 
She  was  followed  by  seven  ladies  upon  palfreys  clad  in  crimson 
velvet,  by  four  ladies  of  the  bedchamber  in  a  scarlet  chariot,  and 
by  thirty  waiting-maids  on  horseback.  The  procession  came  to 
a  pause  from  time  to  time  to  witness  the  shows  and  pageants 
with  which  the  line  of  march  was  occupied. 


ANNE    BOLE  YN.  171 

Among  these  was  a  group  representing  Mount  Parnassus 
with  Apollo  and  his  attendants,  arranged  about  a  fountain  of 
Helicon  which  ran  with  Rhenish  wine  throughout  the  day. 
Another  was  the  coronation  of  a  white  falcon  seated  among 
white  and  red  roses.  At  Cornhill,  the  Three  Graces  welcomed 
the  queen,  and,  through  the  medium  of  an  attendant  poet, 
bestowed  gifts  and  blessings  upon  her.  A  neighboring  fountain 
ran,  in  the  meantime,  at  one  end  with  white  wine  and  at  the 
other  with  claret.  At  Cheapside,  Pallas,  Juno  and  Venus  gave 
Queen  Anne  their  apple  of  gold,  significant  of  wisdom,  riches 
and  felicity.  Ladies,  grouped  over  the  gate  of  St.  Paul's,  threw 
down  wafers  stamped  with  devotional  mottoes.  At  Fleet  street 
Conduit  four  turi'ets  were  erected,  and  from  each  turret  a  Cardi- 
nal Virtue  solemnly  promised  never  to  desert,  but  ever  to  aid 
and  comfort,  the  beautiful  new  queen.  A  choir,  posted  on  the 
leads  of  St.  Martin's,  sang  ballads  in  her  praise ;  and  a  grand 
concert,  artfully  concealed,  "  made  a  solemn  and  heavenly  noise." 
Thus,  through  a  series  of  similar  shows,  derived  principally  from 
heathen  mythology,  the  queen  proceeded  till  she  reached  West- 
minster Hall.  Here  she  alighted,  and  remained  during  the 
night.  The  morrow  was  Whitsunday,  the  1st  of  June,  and 
upon  that  long  and  ardently  expected  day,  her  coronation  as 
Queen  of  England  was  to  be  sumptuously  solemnized. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Anne,  robed  in  purple  velvet 
lined  with  ermine,  entered  Westminster  Hall,  and  stood  under 
the  canopy  of  state.  The  procession  usual  in  ceremonies  of  the 
kind  then  started,  proceeding  from  the  Hall  through  the  sanc- 
tuary and  palace  to  the  high  altar  in  the  Abbey.  Here  the 
queen  seated  herself  upon  gorgeous  cushions,  and  after  a  few 
moments  repose,  descended  to  the  altar,  prostrating  herself 
before  it.  Cranmer  read  the  collect  provided  by  the  ritual,  and 
anointed  the  queen  upon  the  head  and  breast  with  the  coronation 
oil.  He  then  placed  the  crown  of  St.  Edward  upon  her  brow, 
while  the  choir  sang  the  Te  Deum  Laudamus.     As  the  crown  of 


172  ANNE    BOLE  YN. 

the  saint  was  too  hea\-y,  however,  another,  expressly  made  for 
her,  was  quickly  substituted  in  its  place.  Cranmer  then  cele- 
brated a  Cathohc  mass,  after  which  Queen  Anne  returned  to 
her  withdrawing  chamber,  to  await  the  coronation  banquet. 

This  quaint  ceremonial  was  performed  without  the  participa- 
tion of  the  king,  who  was  concealed  in  an  adjoining  cloister, 
where,  in  company  with  several  gossiping  ambassadors,  he 
witnessed  the  fantastic  feast.  The  Earl  of  Essex  was  the  queen's 
carver  ;  the  Earl  of  Arundel  her  butler  ;  Lord  Burgoyue  her 
larderer ;  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt,  the  poet,  formerly  her  lover, 
her  ewerer ;  while  the  mayor  of  Oxford  kept  the  buttery  bar. 
The  Countess  of  Worcester  held  a  handkerchief  before  the 
queen's  face,  "whenever  she  listed  to  spit."  Two  other  ladies 
of  high  rank  sat  under  the  table  at  the  queen's  feet.  The  first 
course,  consisting  of  twenty-seven  dishes,  among  which  were 
"subtleties  of  ships  made  of  colored  wax,"  were  brought  into  the 
hall  and  placed  upon  the  table  by  the  knights  of  the  Bath, 
escorted  by  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  and  Lord  Howard  on  horseback. 
During  the  progress  of  the  dinner,  a  band  of  trumpeters,  located 
in  the  grand  window,  discoursed  agreeable  music.  The  cere- 
monial, or  rather  series  of  ceremonials,  which  began  at  eight,  was 
not  concluded  till  six  in  the  evening.  Anne  Boleyn  was  now 
queen  in  solemn  earnest. 

From  the  very  outset  of  her  ambitious  career,  however,  she 
had  felt  her  situation  to  be  precarious.  She  was  conscious  that 
her  tenure  of  power  was  contingent  upon  her  giving  birth  to  a  son 
who  should  inherit  the  crown.  She  knew  that  she  had  become 
the  subject  of  the  revilings  of  the  populace,  and  of  the  fulmina- 
tions  of  Pope  Clement.  Henry  was  branded  in  the  pulpit  with 
the  name  of  polygamist,  and  on  one  occasion,  Anne  listened  to  a 
sermon  from  an  indignant  friar,  in  which  he  invoked  heaven's 
wrath  upon  them  both ;  and  she  read  letters  and  petitions 
addressed  to  the  king,  in  which  he  was  implored  to  "put  that 
Jezebel  away."     For  a  time,  however,  the  delicate  attentions  of 


AN  NE    BOLE  YN.  173 

her  royal  lover  softened  the  annoyance  and  anxiety  which  these 
vexations  caused  her  ;  and  she  forgot  the  denunciations  of  the 
pope  and  the  hostility  of  the  peojjle  as  she  contemplated  the 
new  gold  coins  upon  which  her  initial  A.  was  entwined  with 
the  sovereign's  royal  H. 

Anne  gave  birth  to  a  daughter  in  September  of  the  same 
year.  Henry,  whose  disappointment  might  have  been  tempered, 
had  he  been  enabled  by  the  gift  of  second-sight  to  contemplate 
the  glory  which  the  infant  Elizabeth  was  destined  to  achieve,  did 
not  seek  to  conceal  his  chagrin.  His  first  act  was  one  of  pettish, 
unmanly  spite  :  he  denied  the  mother  the  j^rivilege  of  nursing 
the  babe  herself,  and  caused  it  to  be  removed  to  a  distant  apart- 
ment, as  he  did  not  wish  his  rest  to  be  disturbed,  he  said,  by  the 
presence  and  the  complaints  of  an  offspring  so  unwelcome. 

Disappointed  as  Henry  was,  he  nevertheless  caused  the 
Parliament  to  pass  an  act  entailing  the  succession  upon  his 
daughter  by  Anne,  in  case  he  should  have  no  heirs  male — thus 
excluding  his  daughter  by  Katharine,  the  Princess  Mary.  All 
persons  in  office  were  at  the  same  time  compelled  to  swear  alle- 
giance to  the  line  thus  estabhshed.  Sir  Thomas  More,  lord 
chancellor,  refused  ;  and  Anne,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  resent- 
ment, induced  the  king  to  sentence  his  tried  and  faithful  servant 
to  the  block.  This  was  the  most  execrable  act  of  her  reign. 
More,  when  visited  in  the  Tower  by  his  daughter,  was  told  by 
her  that  Anne  and  the  court  did  little  else  than  dance  and  sport. 
"  These  dances  of  hers,"  returned  More,  "will  jDrove  such  dances 
that  she  will  spurn  our  heads  off  like  footballs,  but  it  will  not  be 
long  ere  her  head  will  dance  the  like  dance."  "When  the  intelU- 
gence  of  More's  execution  was  brought  to  Henry,  he  said  to 
Anne,  "  Thou  art  the  cause  of  this  man's  death."  He  then 
abruptly  left  the  room  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  apartment. 

The  new  pope,  Paul  III.,  now  renewed  the  denunciations  of 
his  predecessor,  Clement,  and  declared  the  offspring  of  Henry 
and  Anne  illegitimate.     This  persecution  by  the  Catholic  church 


174  AN  NE    B  0  LEYN. 

induced  Anne  to  become  an  apparent  convert  to  the  doctrines 
of  the  Reformation,  then  in  its  infancy  ;  in  heart,  however,  she 
was  still  a  Romanist,  though  at  best  an  inconsistent  one.  While, 
on  the  one  hand,  she  abstained  from  interfering  between  the 
ruthless  cruelty  of  Henry  and  the  martyrdom  of  the  Protestants 
— an  interference  which  the  control  she  exercised  over  the  king 
at  this  period  would  have  made  successful — she  used  her  in- 
fluence, on  the  other,  to  obtain  the  royal  sanction  to  the  transla- 
tion of  the  Sci-iptures.  Her  deportment  underwent  a  marked 
change  at  this  epoch — one  usually  ascribed  to  her  intimacy  with 
Hugh  Latimer,  the  reformist  preacher,  whom  she  had  caused 
to  be  released  from  the  confinement  which  his  professions  of 
faith  had  brought  upon  him.  Under  his  tuition,  she  became 
humble,  charitable,  devout ;  she  made  large  donations  of  money 
to  the  poor,  provided  for  the  education  of  numerous  young  men 
destined  to  the  church,  and  spent  her  leisure  hours  in  working 
tapestry  and  in  discoursing  of  religion  with  her  maids  of  honor. 
Yet,  in  the  intervals  between  these  various  exercises  of  piety, 
she  urged  the  king  to  renewed  persecutions  of  Katharine  of 
Aragon,  and,  finally,  upon  the  death  of  that  unfortunate  queen, 
she  appeared  at  the  funeral  clad  in  yellow,  thus  disobeying,  in 
the  unamiable  exultation  of  her  triumph,  the  express  commands 
of  Henry,  who  had  ordered  the  court  to  assume  black  upon  the 
occasion. 

AVhether  the  disgust  occasioned  in  the  mind  of  the  king  by 
this  imqueenly  display  was  the  proximate  cause  of  his  alienation 
from  Anne,  it  would  be  impossible  at  this  late  day  to  decide.  It 
is  certain,  however,  that  in  the  very  month  in  which  Katharine 
died,  and  at  the  very  time,  therefore,  when  Anne  had  reason  to 
believe  the  crown  firmly  fixed  upon  her  own  head,  she  brought 
forth,  during  the  throes  of  a  premature  travail,  a  still-born  son. 
This  event,  fatal  to  the  hopes  of  Anne  Boleyn,  had  been  caused 
by  the  grief  and  despair  consequent  upon  a  sight  which  met 
her  gaze,  as  she  one  day  entered  unexpectedly  a  room  where 


ANNEBOLEYN.  175 

the  king  was  seated.  Upon  his  knees  sat  her  maid  of  honor, 
the  beautiful,  yet  shameless,  Jane  Seymour.  The  nature  of  their 
conversation  and  the  familiarity  of  their  attitudes,  spoke  too 
plainly  to  the  eyes  of  the  agonized  queen  of  the  place  already 
held  by  Jane  in  the  affections  of  her  inconstant  lord.  Henry 
endeavored  to  soothe  her  agitation  and  reason  away  her  fears, 
in  his  anxiety  for  the  life  of  the  expected  heir  ;  but  when  his 
hopes  had  been  crushed  by  the  untimely  birth,  he  gave  way  to 
the  natural  brutality  of  his  character,  and  muttered  as  he  with- 
drew from  the  bedside,  that  "Anne  should  have  no  more  boys 
by  him." 

Events  now  succeeded  each  other  in  confused  rapidity.  Anne, 
whose  health  returned,  but  whose  spirit  was  quelled,  and  whose 
heai't  was  well-nigh  broken,  withdrew  to  Greenwich  Park,  where 
she  spent  the  sad  days  in  listless  expectation  of  the  blow,  in 
whatever  shape  it  might  come,  which  should  drive  her  from  the 
home,  as  she  had  already  been  expelled  from  the  affections,  of  the 
royal  egotist  who  occupied  the  throne.  Her  •conscience  admon- 
ished her  that,  as  by  her  arts  she  had  compassed  the  fall  of  the 
queen  her  mistress,  so  another,  younger  and  fairer  than  herself, 
was,  in  her  turn,  by  similar,  indeed,  identical  arts,  to  compass 
her  own  disgrace.  It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  Anne's 
apprehensions  extended  beyond  the  probable  loss  of  her 
dignity  as  a  queen  and  her  station  as  a  wife.  She  had  every 
reason  to  expect  a  divorce,  while  she  had  none  whatever  to 
anticipate  death.  No  female  blood  had  yet  been  shed  upon 
the  scaffold  in  English  annals  ;  and  Anne,  whatever  may  have 
been  her  secret  anxiety,  could  not  have  supposed  that  she  would 
be,  not  only  the  first  queen,  but  the  first  woman  in  England 
to  bare  her  neck  to  the  executioner's  axe. 

The  eagerness  of  the  king  to  displace  Anne,  and  to  share  his 
throne  with  the  new  favorite,  was  now  apparent  to  all  the  retain- 
ers of  the  court.  In  the  servility  of  their  obedience,  they  sought 
to  ingratiate  themselves  into  his  favor,  by  bringing  accusations  of 


176  ANNEBOLEYN. 

infidelity,  founded  upon  idle  and  invidious  gossip,  against  the 
queen  their  mistress.  In  the  absence  of  any  other  pretext  of 
ridding  himself  of  the  incumbrance,  Henry  resolved  to  proceed 
against  his  wife  upon  these  frivolous  and  odious  grounds.  Mark 
Smeaton,  a  musician — who  had,  indeed,  been  so  adventurous  as 
to  whisper  his  passion  in  the  ears  of  the  coquettish  Anne,  always 
a  willing  listener  to  such  confidences — and  three  gentlemen  of 
the  royal  household,  Norris,  Brereton,  and  Weston,  were  de- 
nounced as  her  paramours.  Her  brother,  George  Rocheford, 
was  also  charged,  by  his  mahgnant  wife,  with  entertaining  feel- 
ings towards  his  sister  revolting  alike  to  nature  and  to  decency. 
The  king  at  once  oi'ganized  his  plot  upon  this  basis.  He  dis- 
solved the  Parhament  early  in  April,  that  the  queen,  in  her 
coming  adversity,  might  have  no  opportunity  of  appealing  to  that 
body.  He  appointed  a  secret  committee  from  members  of  his 
privy  council,  to  investigate  the  charges  brought  against  her. 
Brereton  was  at  once  examined  and  imprisoned.  On  the  first  of 
May,  at  a  tournament  at  Greenwich,  attended  in  state  by  Henry 
and  Anne,  Norris,  one  of  the  suspected  persons,  being  in  the  lists, 
took  up  a  handkerchief  which  the  queen,  either  by  accident  or 
design,  had  dropped,  and  in  returning  it,  kissed  it,  after  the 
courtly  manners  of  the  time.  Henry  rose  furiously  from  his  seat, 
gave  orders  for  the  arrest  of  Anne  and  of  the  implicated  parties, 
and  rode  sullenly  back  to  Whitehall. 

Anne  was  conve3^ed  to  the  Tower  the  next  day,  the  second  of 
May.  On  her  way  thither,  an  attempt  was  made  to  extract  a 
confession  from  her,  by  telling  her  that  "  her  paramours  had  ac- 
knowledged their  guilt."  She  replied  by  a  passionate  protesta- 
tion of  innocence.  As  she  entered  the  room  she  was  to  occupy, 
she  fell  upon  her  knees,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  Lord,  help  me,  as  I 
am  guiltless  of  that  whereof  I  am  accused !"  She  then  gave  way 
to  a  parox3'sm  of  hysterical  grief,  in  which  apprehension  for  her- 
self and  dismay  for  her  suspected  friends  were  equally  mingled. 
Upon  recovering  her  self-possession,  she  said  to  the  lieutenant 


ANNEBOLEYN.  177 

of  the  Tower  who  attended  her,  "  Mr.  Kmgstou,  shall  I  die 
without  justice  ?" 

Two  ladies,  who  had  their  own  reasons  for  detesting  their 
queen,  Lady  Boleyn,  her  aunt,  and  Mrs.  Cosyns,  one  of  her 
suite,  were  placed  as  spies  over  her,  that  they  might  listen  to 
her  deUrious  ravings,  and  report  to  the  king  the  calumnious 
inferences  which  they  might  have  the  ingenuity  to  extort  from 
them.  They  succeeded,  by  artful  interpretations  of  her  lan- 
guage and  even  by  gross  misrepresentation  of  her  words,  in 
causing  her  to  criminate  herself  in  more  ways  than  one.  They 
alleged  that  she  even  admitted  her  desh-e  for  the  king's  death, 
that  she  might  marry  Norris  ;  and  that  she  expressed  great  fear 
that  Weston,  in  his  examination,  might  compromise  her,  as  he 
had  already  told  her  "  of  his  behef  that  Norris  went  to  her 
chamber  more  for  her  sake  than  for  Madge,"  one  of  her  ladies 
of  honor.  These  statements,  coming  from  women  in  the  avowed 
position  of  spies,  and  openly  confessing  themselves  the  enemies 
of  thij  queen,  are  not  and  cannot  be,  upon  any  principle  of  evi- 
dence, entitled  to  the  smallest  degree  of  reliance,  in  the  absence 
of  authentic  corroborating  testimony.  "The  king  wist  well 
what  he  did,"  said  Anne,  bitterly,  "  when  he  put  such  women  as 
Lady  Boleyn  and  Mrs.  Cosyns  about  me." 

On  the  fourth  day  of  her  imprisonment,  Anne  wrote  and  for- 
warded to  Henry  a  letter  thus  addressed:  "  To  the  King,  from 
the  Ladye  in  the  Tower."  We  quote  entire  this  beautiful  appeal 
to  the  better  nature  of  the  tyrant : 

"  Sire  : 

"Your  grace's  displeasure  and  my  imprisonment  are 
things  so  strange  unto  me,  as  what  to  write,  or  what  to  ex- 
cuse, I  am  altogether  ignorant.  Let  not  your  grace  ever  im- 
agine that  your  poor  wife  will  ever  be  brought  to  acknow- 
ledge a  fault,  when  not  so  much  as  a  thought  thereof  preceded. 
And,  to  speak  a  truth,  never  prince  had   wife   more  loyal  in 

23 


178  ANNE    B  0  L  E  YN. 

all  duty  and  in  all  true  affection  than  you  have  ever  found 
in  Anne  Boleyn  ;  with  which  name  and  place  I  could  willingly 
have  contented  myself,  if  God  and  your  grace's  pleasure  had 
been  so  pleased.  Neither  did  I  at  any  time  so  far  forget  my- 
self in  my  exaltation  or  received  queenship,  but  that  I  always 
looked  for  such  an  alteration  as  I  now  find  ;  for  the  ground 
of  my  preferment  being  on  no  surer  foundation  than  your 
grace's  fancy,  the  least  alteration  I  knew  was  fit  and  sufficient 
to  draw  that  fancy  to  some  other  object.  You  have  chosen 
me  from  a  low  estate  to  be  your  queen  and  companion,  far 
beyond  my  desert  or  desires.  .  .  .  Try  me,  good  king,  but  let  me 
have  a  lawful  trial,  and  let  not  my  sworn  enemies  sit  as  my 
accusers  and  judges  ;  yea,  let  me  receive  an  open  trial,  for 
my  truth  shall  fear  no  open  shame  ;  then  shall  you  either  see 
mine  innocence  cleared,  your  suspicions  and  confidence  satis- 
fied, the  ignominy  and  slander  of  the  world  stopped,  or  my 
guilt  openly  declared. 

"  But  if  you  have  already  determined  of  me,  and  that  not 
only  my  death,  but  an  infamous  slander,  must  bring  you  the  en- 
joying of  your  desired  happiness,  then  I  desire  of  God  that  he 
will  pardon  your  great  sin  therein,  and  likewise  mine  enemies, 
the  instruments  thereof,  and  that  he  will  not  call  you  to  an 
account  for  your  unprincely  and  cruel  usage  of  me,  at  his  general 
judgment  seat,  where  both  you  and  myself  must  shortly  appear, 
and  in  whose  judgment,  I  doubt  not,  whatsoever  the  world  may 
think  of  me,  mine  innocence  shall  be  openly  known  and  suffi- 
ciently cleared.  My  last  and  only  request  shall  be,  that  myself 
may  only  bear  the  burden  of  your  grace's  displeasure,  and  that  it 
may  not  touch  the  innocent  souls  of  those  poor  gentlemen  who, 
as  I  understand,  are  in  strait  imprisonment  for  my  sake.  If  ever 
I  have  found  favor  in  your  sight,  if  ever  the  name  of  Anne  Bo- 
leyn hath  been  pleasing  in  your  ears,  then  let  me  obtain  this  re- 
quest, and  I  will  so  leave  to  trouble  your  grace  any  further,  with 
mine  earnest  prayers  to  the  Trinity  to  have  your  grace  in  his 


ANNEBOLEYN.  179 

good  keeping,  and  to  direct  you  in  all  your  actions.     From  my 
doleful  prison  in  the  Tower,  this  sixth  of  May. 

"  Your  most  loyal  and  ever  faitliful  wife, 

"Anne   Boleyn." 

The  Grand  Jury  of  Westminster  found  an  indictment  against 
the  queen  and  the  five  parties  accused  upon  the  10th  of  May. 
Norris,  Weston,  Brereton  and  Smeaton  were  tried  on  the  same 
day.  They  were  found  guilty  and  condemned  to  death,  though 
upon  what  evidence  the  records  do  not  inform  us.  The  wretched 
Smeaton  made  a  desperate  effort  to  save  his  life  by  confessing  a 
criminal  intercourse  with  the  queen.  He  was  hanged,  while  the 
others,  of  noble  birth,  were  brought  to  the  block.  Anne  and 
her  brother,  Lord  Kocheford,  were  tried  on  the  16th  of  the 
month.  Twenty-six  peers,  upon  whose  servility  Henry  knew  he 
could  rely,  were  chosen  by  him  from  the  fifty-three  who  consti- 
tuted the  entire  body.  Anne's  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  her 
unrelenting  enemy,  was  deputed  to  preside  over  their  delibera- 
tions ;  while  all  who  had  a  motive,  either  avowed  or  presumed, 
for  desiring  the  removal  of  the  queen,  were  made  "lords  triers" 
in  this  infamous  court.  Even  Percy,  now  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land, Anne's  once  betrothed  lover,  whom  Henry  might  suppose 
to  cherish  a  lingering  resentment  at  the  indifference  with  which 
she  had  abandoned  him,  was  named  among  her  judges.  He 
appeared  and  took  his  seat:  he  was  seized,  however,  with  a 
violent  and  uncontrollable  agitation  before  the  trial  commenced, 
and  hastily  quitted  the  hall.  He  died  soon  afterwards,  broken- 
hearted. 

Lord  Rocheford  was  the  first  arraigned.  His  wife  volunteered 
her  evidence  against  him,  which  was,  in  substance,  that  he  had 
once  leaned  upon  the  bed  in  which  his  sister,  the  queen,  was, 
and,  in  making  some  request,  had  kissed  her.  The  court  at 
once  convicted  him  of  high  treason,  and  condemned  him  to  death. 
Anne  was  then  summoned  to  appear.     She  entered,  and  was  led 


180  ANNE    BOLEYN. 

to  the  bar  by  the  constable  of  the  Tower.  Though  without 
counsel  or  defender,  her  manner  betrayed  neither  fear  nor  agita- 
tion :  she  courtesied  to  the  judges,  and  then  held  up  her  hand 
and  pleaded  "not  guilty."  The  destruction  of  the  records  of 
the  trial  leave  us  without  the  means  of  judging  of  the  admissi- 
bility of  the  evidence  brought  against  her.  All  that  remains  is 
a  defaced  entry  in  the  private  note-book  of  one  of  the  judges, 
from  which  it  would  appear  that  "one  Lady  Wingfield,  who  had 
been  a  servant  to  the  queen,  and  had  become  suddenly  infirm 

before  her  death,  did  swear  this  matter  to  one  of  her " 

If  this  was  all  the  evidence,  it  was  singularly  incomplete,  being 
the  hear-say  statement  that  a  woman,  dead  before  the  trial,  had 
made  an  oath  some  time  previously,  at  a  time  when  she  was 
infirm,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  sane. 

Anne  defended  herself  with  so  much  eloquence,  and  such 
logical  acumen,  that  a  report  sj^read  through  the  city  that  she 
was  sure  of  an  acquittal.  A  verdict  of  condemnation  was,  never- 
theless, declared.  The  queen  was  then  required  to  lay  aside 
her  crown  while  sentence  was  pronounced  by  her  uncle,  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk— a  sentence  to  death  at  the  stake  or  upon  the 
block,  as  the  king  might  decree.  Anne  raised  her  eyes  to 
heaven  as  these  terrible  words  were  uttered,  and  said :  "  Oh, 
Father !  oh.  Creator !  Thou  who  art  the  way,  the  life  and  the 
truth,  thou  knowest  whether  I  have  deserved  this  death!"  She 
then  made  the  following  address  to  the  peers  of  the  realm  : 
"My  lords,  I  will  not  say  your  sentence  is  unjust,  nor  presume 
that  my  reasons  can  prevail  against  your  convictions.  I  am 
willing  to  believe  that  you  have  sufficient  reasons  for  what  you 
have  done  ;  but  then  they  must  be  other  than  those  which  have 
been  produced  in  court,  for  I  am  clear  of  all  the  offences  which 
you  there  laid  to  my  charge.  I  have  ever  been  a  faithful  wife 
to  the  king,  though  I  do  not  say  I  have  always  shown  him  that 
humility  which  his  goodness  to  me,  and  the  honor  to  which  he 
raised  me,  merited.     I  confess  I  have  had  jealous  fancies  and 


ANNEBOLEYN.  181 

suspicions  of  him,  which  I  had  not  discretion  and  wisdom  enough 
to  conceal  at  all  times.  But  God  knows  and  is  my  witness,  that 
I  never  sinned  against  him  in  any  other  way.  Think  not  that  I 
say  this  in  the  hope  lo  prolong  my  life.  God  hath  taught  me 
how  to  die,  and  he  will  strengthen  my  faith.  I  know  these  my 
last  words  will  avail  me  nothing,  except  for  the  justification  of 
my  chastity  and  honor.  As  for  my  brother  and  those  others 
who  are  unjustly  condemned,  I  would  willingly  suffer  many 
deaths  to  deliver  them  ;  but  since  I  see  it  so  pleases  the  king,  I 
shall  willingly  accompany  them  in  death,  with  this  assurance, 
that  I  shall  lead  an  endless  life  with  them  in  peace."  She  then 
courtesied  resignedly  to  her  judges  and  the  court,  and  left  the 
hall  accompanied  by  the  constable  and  the  ladies  who  had 
attended  her  at  the  bar. 

A  few  hours  after,  Henry  signed  the  death-warrant  of  his 
wife.  On  the  17th  of  the  month  a  summons  was  served  upon 
her,  requiring  her  to  appear  before  the  archbishop  at  Lambeth, 
"to  answer  certain  questions  as  to  the  validity  of  her  marriage 
with  the  king."  Acknowledging,  as  she  was  bound  in  truth  to 
do,  her  engagement  to  Percy  before  her  union  with  Henry, 
she  was  forced  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  Cranmer  the  declaration 
that  the  marriage  was  null  and  void,  and  had  always  been  so. 
The  artful  king  had  delayed  the  publication  of  this  new  sentence, 
till  Anne  had  been  formally  condemned  to  death  ;  it  is  evident 
that  had  he  caused  his  marriage  with  Anne  to  be  pronounced 
null  before  her  trial  for  infidelity  and  high  treason,  she  could  not 
have  been  found  guilty  of  crimes  which  only  a  lawful  wife  could 
commit.  Henry's  proceedings  were  logically  conducted,  how- 
ever ;  he  desired  Anne's  death  as  a  more  complete  release  from 
her  than  he  could  procure  by  a  divorce  ;  and  he  sought  to 
invalidate  their  marriage  that  he  might  dispossess  his  daughter 
Elizabeth  of  her  right  to  the  succession.  He  had  already  reached 
that  epoch  in  his  career,  in  which  it  was  said  of  him  that, 
"Henry,   the  most  brutal,   heartless   and   licentious   tyrant   in 


182  ANNE    BOLEYN. 

history,  never  spared  a  man  in  liis  anger,  nor  a  woman  in  his 
lust." 

As  Anne  returned  from  Lambeth  Palace,  she  heard  the  knell 
of  her  brother  and  her  friends,  who  were  to  be  executed  that 
day  upon  Tower  Hill.  Rocheford  suffered  first,  ha^^ng  exhorted 
his  companions  to  die  courageously,  and  having  forgiven  his 
enemies  and  the  king.  Norris,  Brereton  and  Weston  bowed  their 
necks  to  the  axe  in  turn.  Mark  Smeaton,  as  has  been  said,  was 
hanged.  His  dying  words,  "  Masters,  I  pray  you  all  to  pray  for 
me,  for  I  have  deserved  the  death,"  have  been  construed  as  a 
confession  of  guilt.  But  it  is  quite  as  likely  they  were  an 
expression  of  contrition  for  his  perjury.  This  is  the  more  pro- 
bable from  the  fact  that  Anne  fully  expected  him  to  make  a 
retraction  of  his  previous  confession,  and  not  interpreting  his 
language  in  this  sense,  exclaimed,  "Has  he  not,  then,  cleared 
me  from  the  public  shame  he  has  done  me  ?  Alas,  I  fear  his  soul 
will  suffer  from  the  false  witness  he  hath  borne." 

Anne  had  now  but  two  days  to  live,  as  the  19th  of  May  had 
been  appointed  by  the  king  as  "  the  last  of  earth"  for  her.  She 
spent  this  brief  period  in  devotional  exercises  with  a  CathoUc 
confessor,  and  in  attempts  at  poetic  composition.  The  following 
stanza  of  a  dirge  written  by  her  at  the  time,  aptly  depicts  the 
desolation  of  her  feelings  upon  the  approach  of  the  fatal  hour  : 

"Farewell  my  pleasures  past, 
Welcome  my  present  pain, 
I  feel  my  torments  so  increase, 
That  life  cannot  remain. 
Samd  now  the  passing-bell, 
Kung  is  my  doleful  knell, 
For  its  sound  my  death  doth  tell; 

Death  doth  draw  nigh, 

Sound  the  knoll  dolefully, 

For  now  I  die !" 

Henry  had  waived  the  privilege  by  which  he  might  have 
burned  his  wife  at  the  stake.     He  compensated  for  this  leniency,. 


ANNEBOLEYN.  183 

however,  by  authorizing  an  experiment  to  be  tried  upon  her 
person.  He  ordered  the  headsman  of  Calais — a  man  renowned 
for  his  address — to  be  brought  to  London,  that  Anne  might 
be  decollated  with  a  sword,  after  the  French  fashion,  instead  of 
being  decapitated  by  the  traditional  axe  of  English  executions. 
All  strangers  were  excluded  from  the  Tower  that  the  hideous 
spectacle  might  be  witnessed  by  as  few  persons  as  possible — the 
cruel  monarch's  single  acknowledgment  of  the  power  of  public 
opinion.  Cromwell,  the  successor  of  Wolsey  in  his  confidence, 
had  advised  him  not  to  fix  the  hour,  in  order  to  lessen  the 
chances  of  a  concourse  of  people  and  of  a  forcible  rescue. 

Anne  rose  at  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Friday,  the  19th. 
She  partook  of  the  sacrament,  and  while  engaged  in  this  supreme 
devotional  act  of  her  life,  solemnly  protested  to  the  heutenant  of 
the  Tower  her  innocence  of  the  crimes  for  which  she  was  to 
die.  As  she  had  never  deigned  to  sue  for  mercy  to  the  king, 
and  as,  so  far  from  desiring  a  reprieve  or  pardon,  she  was  now 
impatient  for  a  release  from  her  sufferings,  the  reader  will  see 
in  this  solemn  declaration,  not  an  act  of  deliberate  perjury,  which 
could  not  help  her  here  and  would  endanger  her  hereafter,  but 
an  assertion  of  innocence,  intended  to  clear  her  character  rather 
than  to  prolong  her  life.  She  was  a  personage  in  history  and 
had  occupied  the  throne  :  nothing  could  have  been  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  seek,  while  not  compromising  her  eternity 
in  heaven,  to  vindicate  her  good  name  with  posterity  on  earth. 

While  she  was  making  her  preparations  for  the  fatal  moment, 
Kingston,  the  lieutenant,  was  writing  to  Cromwell  an  account  of 
every  event  which  transpired  in  the  Tower.  Anne  sent  for  him 
to  say  that- she  had  heard  "she  should  not  die  before  noon,  and 
was  very  sorry  therefor,  for  she  had  thought  to  be  dead  by  this 
time,  and  past  her  pain."  Kingston  replied  that  the  pain  would 
be  little,  "it  was  so  subtle."  Anne  returned,  laughing,  "I  have 
heard  say  the  executioner  is  very  good,  and  I  have  a  little  neck." 
It  was  probably  about  eleven  o'clock  that  Anne  sent  to  the  king. 


184  ANNEBOLEYN. 

by  a  messenger  whom  she  thought  trustworthy,  but  who  dared 
not  deliver  them,  the  memorable  words  which  Lord  Bacon  has 
transmitted  to  posterity:  "Commend  me  to  his  majesty,"  she 
said,  "and  teU  him  he  hath  ever  been  constant  in  his  career 
of  advancing  me.  From  a  private  gentlewoman  he  made  me  a 
marchioness  ;  from  a  marchioness,  a  queen  ;  and  now  that  he 
hath  left  no  higher  degree  of  honor,  he  gives  my  innocency  the 
crown  of  martyi-dom." 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  portals  opening  upon  the  church-green 
were  thrown  open,  and  Anne  Boleyu  appeared,  led  by  the  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Tower,  and  accompanied  by  her  four  maids  of 
honor.  She  was  dressed  in  black  damask,  with  a  deep  white 
cape  at  the  neck.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  while  her  eyes 
gleamed  with  unusual  lustre.  She  ascended  the  scaffold,  with  the 
aid  of  the  lieutenant,  and  saw  there,  assembled  to  witness  her 
death,  her  implacable  uncle  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  lord  mayor, 
and  other  civic  functionaries,  Henry's  natural  son,  the  Duke  of 
Richmond,  and  Cromwell,  whom  she  had  aided  in  his  aspiring 
aims,  and  who  had  deserted  her  in  her  adversity.  To  none  of 
these  truculent  personages  did  she  condescend  to  speak.  With 
the  pei-mission  of  Kingston,  however,  she  thus  addressed  the 
sparse  assemblage  of  spectators  ;  "Good  Christian  people,  I  am 
come  hither  to  die  according  to  law,  for  by  the  law  I  am  judged 
to  die,  and  therefore  will  speak  nothing  against  it.  I  am  come 
hither  to  accuse  no  man,  nor  to  speak  anything  of  that  whereof 
I  am  accused,  as  I  know  full  well  that  aught  that  I  could  say  in 
my  defence  doth  not  appertain  unto  you,  and  that  I  could  draw 
no  hope  of  life  from  the  same.  But  I  come  here  only  to  die, 
and  thus  to  yield  myself  humbly  unto  the  will  of  my  lord  the 
king.  I  pray  God  to  save  the  king  and  send  him  long  to  reign 
over  you,  for  a  gentler  or  more  merciful  prince  was  there  never-. 
To  me  he  was  ever  a  good  and  gentle  sovereign  lord.  If  any 
person  will  meddle  with  my  cause,  I  require  him  to  judge  the 
best.     Thus   I   take  my  leave  of  the  world  and   of  you,  and  I 


AN  NE    B  0  LE  YN.  185 

heartily  desire  you  all  to  i^ray  for  me."  She  then,  without  the 
assistance  of  her  ladies,  removed  her  hat,  and,  placing  a  linen 
cap  over  her  hair,  said  :  "  Alas  !  poor  head,  in  a  very  hrief  space 
thou  wilt  roll  in  the  dust  upon  the  scaffold  ;  and  as  in  life  thou 
didst  not  merit  to  wear  the  crown  of  a  queen,  so  in  death  thou 
deservest  not  better  doom  than  this."  She  gave  her  prayer-book 
to  her  faithful  friend,  Mary  Wyatt,  the  sister  of  the  poet,  who 
had  steadfastly  clung  to  her  in  every  reverse,  and  then  sufTering 
her  eyes  to  be  bandaged  by  another  of  her  ladies,  she  knelt 
down  upon  both  knees.  Uttering  a  hasty  prayer,  "0  Lord  God, 
have  pity  upon  my  soul !"  she  received  upon  her  neck  the  sturdy 
yet  skillful  blow,  dealt  by  the  headsman  of  Calais. 

A  signal  gun  was  fired  to  announce  the  consummation  of  the 
tragedy  to  the  impatient  king,  who,  gaily  attired  for  the  chase, 
was  awaiting  the  joyful  tidings  in  Richmond  Park.  When  the 
echoes  of  the  distant  report  reached  his  ear,  the  relieved  widower 
exclaimed:  "Ha!  ha!  the  deed  is  done!  Uncouple  the  hounds 
and  away !"  He  then  dashed  off  at  lightning  pace  for  the  scene 
of  his  bloody  nuptials  at  Wolf  Hall,  where  Jane  Seymour,  in 
the  full  knowledge  that  her  queen  and  mistress  was  at  that  hour 
undergoing  her  mortal  agony  at  the  Tower  of  London,  was 
prejiai'lng  to  wed  the  remorseless  tyrant  who  had  slain  her. 

The  mangled  remains  of  the  hapless  Anne,  having  been 
covered  with  a  sheet  by  the  attendant  ladies,  were  placed  by 
them  in  an  elm  chest  which  had  been  used  for  storing  arrows  ; 
they  were  then  conveyed  to  the  church  within  the  Tower,  and 
hastily  buried  in  a  trench  beside  the  coffins  of  her  brother  and 
friends.  No  funeral  rites  were  performed  over  the  grave,  except, 
doubtless,  a  hurried  prayer  whispered  by  the  trembling  lips  of 
gentle  Mary  Wyatt. 

During  the  following  night,  according  to  a  tradition  now  for 
three  centuries  uncontradicted,  the  old  elm  chest  was  secretly 
conveyed  to  Salle  Church  in  Norfolk,  where  it  was  committed  to 
consecrated  ground.     A  black  marble  slab,  devoid  of  inscription 

24 


186  ANNE    BOLE  YN. 

or  date,  is  pointed  out  to  this  day  as  the  funereal  monument  of 
Anne  Boleyn.  The  following  passage  would  hardly  have  been 
written  by  Wyatt,  in  his  pathetic  account  of  Queen  Anne's  death, 
had  not  her  remains  been  honored  by  other  ceremonies  than 
those  which  immediately  followed  her  execution:  "God,"  he 
says,  "provided  for  her  corpse  sacred  burial,  even  in  a  place,  as 
it  were,  consecrate  to  innocence." 

Anne  Boleyn  having  been  the  recognized  cause  of  the  separa- 
tion of  England  from  the  Romish  communion,  her  character  has 
been  from  that  time  to  this  the  subject  of  fierce  denunciation  on 
the  part  of  Catholic  polemical  writers.  They  have  striven  elabo- 
rately to  prove  her  unchaste  before  marriage  and  adulterous 
afterwards.  Protestant  authors,  on  the  other  hand,  urge  the 
fact  of  her  marriage  with  Henry  as  conclusive  proof  of  her  virtue, 
and  repel  the  charges  upon  which  the  cruel  monarch  caused  her 
to  be  condemned  to  death  as  slanderous  and  futile.  That  she 
was  ambitious  and  unscrupulous  after  she  had  resolved  to 
obtain  the  crown,  will  hardly  be  contested  ;  but  it  will  not  be 
denied  either,  that  had  not  the  king  interfered,  she  would  have 
amply  gratified  her  tastes,  her  feelings  and  her  ambition,  by  an 
unostentatious  union  with  Lord  Percy.  After  her  trial,  her  con- 
duct was  in  every  way  admirable  ;  and  she  seems  to  have  been 
absorbed  in  indignation  at  the  baseness  of  her  oppressors  and 
anxiety  for  her  posthumous  fame.  Anne  Boleyn  enabled  Henry 
VIII. — whom  the  pope  had  once  in  flattery  called  the  Defender 
of  the  Faitli — to  become  the  unworthy  instrument  of  the  intro- 
duction of  the  Reformation  into  England  ;  and  as  such,  her 
history  would  always  be  interesting,  even  if  she  were  not  also 
remarkable  as  the  victim  of  a  monarch's  heartlcssness,  and  as  an 
ilhistration  of  the  state  of  English  jurisprudence  in  her  time. 
That  she  lent  her  influence  to  aid  William  Tyndal,  Miles  Cover- 
dale  and  John  Rogers,  the  martyr,  in  their  translation — the  first 
attempted — of  the  Scriptures  into  the  English  tongue,  is  not  her 
least  title  to  respect  and  grateful  remembrance. 


MARY,    QUEEN   OF    SCOTS, 


Mary  Stuart,  celebrated  above  all  other  women  for  her 
beauty  and  her  misfortunes,  was  the  third  child  of  James  V.  of 
Scotland,  and  was  born  on  the  7th  of  December,  1542.  By  her 
father's  death,  seven  days  afterwards — his  two  sons  having  died  in 
infancy — Mary  succeeded,  when  but  a  week  old,  to  the  throne  of 
a  kingdom  torn  asunder  by  political  and  religious  dissensions,  and 
suffering  from  the  consequences  of  a  calamitous  war  with  Eng- 
land. Henry  VIII.,  then  upon  the  English  throne,  conceived  the 
idea,  upon  Mary's  birth,  of  marrying  her  to  his  son  Edward  by 
Jane  Seymour,  and  thus  peacefully  annexhig  Scotland  to  his 
crown  ;  he  lost  no  time,  therefore,  in  making  the  proposal,  but  it 
was  received  with  little  favor  by  the  Scottish  nobles.  The  young 
queen,  when  nine  months  old,  was  crowned  by  Cardinal  Beaton  ; 
after  t"he  ceremony,  the  queen-motlier,  informed  of  a  report  that 
the  infant  was  sickly,  caused  her  to  be  unswaddled  in  the  presence 
of  the  English  ambassador,  who  wrote  home  that  she  was  as 
goodly  a  child  as  he  had  seen  of  her  age. 

Mary  spent  the  two  first  years  of  her  life  in  the  palace  of 
Linlithgow,  in  which  she  was  born  ;  here  she  had  the  small  pox, 
but  in  a  mild  form  probably,  as  it  left  no  trace.  Her  three  fol- 
lowing years  were  passed  in  Stirling  Castle ;  in  her  sixth  year  she 


1RT 


188  MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS. 

was  removed,  on  account  of  the  vicinity  of  that  residence  to  the 
scene  of  partisan  troubles,  to  Inchmahome,  a  sequestered  island  in 
the  Lake  of  Monteith.  Four  young  ladies  of  rank,  of  her  ov?n 
age,  were  appointed  to  keep  her  company  in  this  lonely  spot ; 
here  ^Nlary  Stuart,  with  the  four  Maries  who  formed  her  society — 
Mary  Beaton,  Mary  Livingstone,  Mary  Fleming  and  Mary  Seaton 
— remained  tUl  her  mother  and  the  regent,  sanctioned  by  the 
Scottish  parUament,  betrothed  her  to  the  French  dauphin,  Francis, 
the  son  of  Henry  II.  and  Catherine  de  Medicis.  Such  an  alliance 
was  felt  both  by  the  Scotch  and  the  French  to  protect  them  in  a 
measure  against  the  designs  of  the  English  monarch.  The  treaty 
stipulated  that  Mary  should  be  sent  to  France  to  be  educated  at 
the  French  court,  till  the  nuptials  could  be  solemnized.  She  was 
delivered  to  the  French  admiral  at  Dumbarton,  in  July,  1548, 
and  landed  at  Brest  on  the  14th  of  August.  She  was  received 
with  royal  honors  ;  during  her  progress  to  St.  Germain,  near 
Paris,  the  j^risons  in  every  town  through  which  she  passed  were 
opened  and  the  prisoners  set  free.  She  was  sent,  with  the  king's 
daughters,  to  a  convent,  where  she  was  instructed  in  the  elements 
of  education.  Here  the  tranquillity  of  a  life  of  seclusion  made 
such  a  deep  imjiression  upon  her  naturally  fervent  and  enthusi- 
astic disposition,  that  she  soon  expressed  a  desire  to  take  the  veil 
and  enter  the  cloister  for  life.  Henry,  whose  ambitious  projects 
would  have  been  defeated  by  such  a  step,  resolved  to  remove  her 
to  the  gayer  scenes  of  the  court.  The  unhappy  princess  shed 
floods  of  tears  upon  her  sej^aration  from  her  vestal  sisters, 
but  Henry  shared  the  opinions  of  his  father  upon  the  priesthood, 
that  monks  were  fit  for  little  else  than  teaclnng  linnets  to  whistle, 
and  persisted  in  his  determination. 

This  was  the  era  of  polite  learning  in  France.  George 
Buchanan  was  Mary's  professor  in  Latin,  a  language  in  which  it 
was  then  indispensable  even  for  ladies  to  attain  proficiency.  She 
studied  rhetoric  with  Fauchet,  history  with  Pasquier,  and  poetry 
with  tlie  gallant  and  amiable  Rousard.     She  spoke  French  and 


MAEY,    QUEENOPSCOTS.  189 

her  native  tongue  with  equal  facility.  She  followed  the  stag 
with  her  maids  of  honor  ;  she  played  on  the  lute  and  the  virgi- 
nals ;  in  winter  she  erected  mimic  ice-fortresses,  with  all  the 
science  of  an  engineer  ;  and  she  had  but  one  rival  in  the  minuet. 
She  excelled  in  the  composition  of  devices — an  art  which  con- 
sisted in  the  skillful  application  of  a  few  precise  and  expressive 
words,  in  the  form  of  a  motto,  to  an  engraving,  picture,  or  other 
work  of  art.  This  amusement  was  veiy  popular  at  court,  and 
was  termed  "an  eloquent  species  of  trifling." 

The  nuptials  of  Francis  and  Mary  took  place  at  Notre  Dame 
on  the  24th  of  April,  1558,  the  bride  being  in  her  sixteenth 
year.  The  spectacle  was  one  of  the  most  imposing  which  the 
Parisians  of  that  age  had  been  summoned  to  witness.  As  the 
procession  returned  from  the  cathedral,  largess  was  proclaimed 
among  the  people  in  the  name  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Scots. 
Catherine  de  Medicis  and  Mary  sat  in  the  same  palanquin,  a  car- 
dinal walking  on  either  hand.  The  mummeries  and  artifices  dis- 
played at  the  banquet  were  of  the  most  costly  and  ingenious 
description.  Twelve  horses,  moved  by  mechanism,  covered  with 
cloths  of  gold  and  mounted  by  the  scions  of  noble  houses, 
pranced  into  the  hall.  They  were  followed  by  six  galleys, 
decorated  after  the  manner  of  Cleopatra's  barge,  which  sailed 
along  the  tables  ;  each  contained  two  seats,  one  of  which  only 
was  occupied.  As  each  galley  advanced,  the  cavalier  who 
manned  it  snatched  from  among  the  spectators  the  willing  and 
probably  expectant  object  of  his  vows.  The  festivities  were  con- 
cluded by  jousts  and  tournaments. 

The  contemporaries  of  Mary  Stuart  are  unanimous  in  extolling 
her  unusual  beauty.  In  stature  she  was  majestic,  being,  hke  her 
mother,  above  the  ordinary  height.  Her  person  was  finely  pro- 
portioned, and  all  her  movements  were  graceful  and  dignified. 
Her  hair  was  auburn,  clustering  in  luxuriant  ringlets  ;  her  eyes 
were  of  chestnut  color,  a  darker  shade  of  the  same  hue  ;  her  nose 
was  Grecian,  her  brow  high  and  open,  her  complexion  clear,  her 


190  MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS. 

skin  white  ;  her  cheeks  were  rose-tinted,  not  rosy.  Her  Hps 
were  full,  and  a  dimple  in  her  chin  gave  expression  to  that 
usually  expressionless  feature.  These  lineaments  were  so  charm- 
ingly animated  by  the  light  suffused  from  the  soul  within,  that 
physical  and  spiritual  beauty  contended  for  the  palm.  The  gal- 
lant BrantSme,  whose  opinion  upon  Diana  de  Poitiers  we  have 
cited,  comjDared  her  to  the  sun  at  mid-day,  and  declared  that  no 
man  ever  saw  her  without  losing  his  heart.  Mary  sometimes 
dressed  herself  in  a  complete  Highland  costume,  and  when  thus 
arrayed  in  the  Stuart  tartan,  delighted  to  testify  her  regard  for 
Scotland,  by  appearing  in  public.  Brantome  declared  her  a  god- 
dess even  in  this  "barbarous  and  astonishing  garb  ;"  and  added, 
"if  she  appeared  so  beautiful  when  thus  dressed  like  a  savage, 
what  must  she  not  be  in  her  rich  robes  made  a  la  Fran9aise  ?'' 
The  younger  brother  of  Francis,  afterwards  Charles  IX.,  passion- 
ately exclaimed  that  he  considered  his  brother  the  happiest  man 
on  earth,  to  possess  a  creature  of  so  much  loveliness.  But  the 
most  spontaneous  tribute  to  her  matchless  beauty  was  offered  on 
the  occasion  of  a  religious  ceremony  in  the  streets  of  Paris. 
Mary,  then  in  her  15th  year,  was  walking  in  the  procession, 
dressed  in  white  and  holding  a  lighted  torch  in  her  hand.  A 
woman  in  the  crowd,  startled  by  the  lovely  apparition,  stopped 
her  and  asked  with  reverential  accent,  "Are  you  not  an  angel?" 
At  this  time,  Mary  Tudor,  Queen  of  England,  daughter  of 
Henry  YIII.  by  Katherine  of  Aragon,  died,  having  succeeded 
Edward  VI.,  Henry's  son  by  Jane  Seymour.  The  parliament 
declared  that  the  succession  was  vested  in  Elizabeth,  Henry's 
daughter  b}^  Anne  Boleyn,  and  the  voice  of  the  nation  ratified 
this  decree.  The  guardians  of  Mary  Stuart,  however,  chose 
this  inauspicious  moment  to  press  her  claims  to  the  English 
throne,  basing  them  upon  the  following  argument : — Mary  was 
the  daughter  of  James  V.  of  Scotland,  whose  mother,  wife  of 
James  IV.,  was  the  eldest'  daughter  of  Henry  VII.  of  England, 
and  consequently  sister  of  Henry  VIII.     If  the  two  daughters  of 


MARY,    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  191 

Heuiy  VIII.,  Mary  and  Elizabeth,  were,  as  he  had  caused  them 
to  be  declared,  illegitimate,  Mary  Stuart,  his  grand-niece,  was 
the  next  heir  to  the  crown.  But  after  Henry's  death  the  parlia- 
ment reversed  his  decision  and  pronounced  his  daughters  legiti- 
mate. Mary  Tudor  had  reigned,  and  now  Elizabeth  was  simi- 
moned  to  succeed  her.  The  people  acquiesced  without  giving  a 
thought  to  the  Scottish  princess.  The  course  of  her  partisans  in 
pushing  her  forward  as  a  claimant  was,  therefore,  in  the  highest 
degree  ill-advised. 

In  July,  1559,  Mary  Stuart  became  Queen  of  France,  by  the 
death  of  Henry  II.  and  the  accession  of  Francis.  She  was 
already  Queen  of  Scotland,  and,  in  the  case  of  the  death  of 
Elizabeth,  would  become  also  Queen  of  England.  History  has 
chronicled  few  such  instances  of  the  concentration  of  the  gifts  of 
fortune  upon  one  single  head.  But  Mary's  grandeur  was  of  short 
duration.  Francis  died  after  a  reign  of  seventeen  months,  and 
his  wife  was  no  longer  Queen  of  France.  Charles  IX.  succeeded, 
his  mother,  Catherine  de  Medicis,  reigning  in  his  stead  ;  in  her 
Mary  found  an  inveterate  foe.  She  retired  at  first  to  Rheims, 
to  weep  over  the  grave  of  her  mother,  and  there  resolved,  that 
as  France  was  no  longer  the  home  which  it  once  had  been,  it 
was  her  duty  to  return  to  that  other  land  which  owed  her  alle- 
giance. She  sent  to  Elizabeth  to  demand  of  her  the  courtesy 
usually  extended  to  princes  who  had  occasion  to  venture  upon 
the  water — the  favor  of  a  free  passage.  Elizabeth,  indignant  at 
Mary's  refusal  to  ratify  a  treaty  made  between  herself  and  the 
heads  of  the  reformed  religious  party  in  Scotland,  one  of  the 
terms  of  which  was  a  renunciation,  on  the  part  of  Mary,  of  all 
claims  to  the  English  crown,  refused  the  request  in  the  presence 
of  a  numerous  audience,  thus  making  the  denial  public,  and  seek- 
ing to  render  the  breach  of  court  etiquette  as  flagrant  as  possible. 
Mary  still  resolved  to  depart,  independent  of  Elizabeth's  consent, 
though  it  was  with  deep  grief  that  she  looked  forward  to  a  life  in 
a  country  where  barbarism  characterized  the  manners,  turbulence 


192  MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS. 

the  politics,  and  fanaticism  the  religion  of  the  people.  She  set 
sail  late  in  August  from  Calais,  and  as  she  gazed  at  the  receding 
shore,  exclaimed:  "Farewell,  France!  farewell  beloved  country, 
which  I  shall  never  more  behold!"  As  long  as  daylight  continued 
she  remained  straining  her  eyes  toward  the  coast ;  when  darkness 
shrouded  the  sea  and  the  land,  she  refused  to  retire  to  her  cabin, 
but  caused  a  bed  to  be  spread  for  her  upon  the  deck,  upon  which 
she  wept  herself  to  sleep. 

In  less  than  a  week,  Mary  arrived  in  the  Frith  of  Forth,  and 
landed  at  Leith,  a  suburb  of  Edinburgh.  She  soon  after  entered 
her  capital  and  established  herself  in  Holyrood  palace.  Her  sensa- 
tions of  dismay,  almost  of  terror,  may  easily  be  comprehended. 
The  poverty  of  the  land  contrasted  woefully  with  the  smiling  val- 
leys of  France  ;  the  weather  was  thick,  wet  and  "dolorous;"  the 
poor  trappings  of  the  horses,  the  meagreness  of  the  bonfires  and 
illuminations,  recalled,  by  comparison,  the  splendor  of  the  public 
rejoicings  of  Paris  and  St.  Germain.  A  knot  of  reformers,  who 
sang  psalms  under  her  window,  and  a  band  of  bagpipers,  who 
performed  a  serenade  before  her  gate,  quite  disconcerted  both 
her  and  her  attendants  ;  and  BrantOme,  who  had  followed  in  her 
suite,  alludes  to  the  dismal  concert  in  the  expressive  words,  "He! 
quelle  musique !"  After  a  time,  however,  Mary  recovered  her 
gaiety,  and  introduced  into  her  palace  a  few  of  the  amusements 
to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  She  thus  gave  great  offence 
to  John  Knox,  who  inveighed  against  such  practices  ffom  the 
pulpit,  and  who  even  wrote — "So  soon  as  ever  her  French  fil- 
locks,  and  fiddlers,  and  others  of  that  band,  got  the  house  alone, 
there  might  be  seen  skipping  not  very  comely  for  honest  women. 
Her  common  talk  was,  in  secret,  that  she  saw  nothing  in  Scotland 
but  gravity,  which  was  altogether  repugnant  to  her  nature,  for 
she  was  brought  up  in  joyousness." 

For  a  few  years  Mary  led  a  tranquil  though  a  busy  life.  She 
continued  to  worship  in  the  forms  of  the  Catholic  religion,  thougli 
by  so  doing  she  at  first  deeply  oH'ended  her  subjects.    She  sought 


MA  IIY,    QUEEN     OF     SCOTS.  193 

to  conciliate  Knox  and  the  reformers,  and  to  introduce  the  refine- 
ments of  continental  civilization  into  the  counti'y.  She  devoted 
five  hours  a  day  to  public  affairs  ;  and  while  she  listened  to  the 
advice  of  her  counsellors  and  joined  in  discussion  with  them, 
worked  diligently  at  her  embroidery.  She  studied  the  books 
which  she  had  brought  with  her  from  France,  and  gave  one  hour  a 
day  to  Latin.  She  made  various  excursions  through  the  country, 
endearing  herself  to  the  people  by  her  moderation  and  urbanity. 
She  was  benevolent  and  attentive  to  the  jDoor.  She  was  fond  of 
botany  and  horticulture,  and  planted  the  first  sycamore  tree 
which  ever  grew  upon  Scottish  soil.  She  delighted  in  hunting, 
hawking,  dancing  and  archery,  and  excelled  in  the  game  of  chess. 
Her  love  for  music  induced  her  to  maintain  a  band  of  twelve 
minstrels,  and  to  introduce  into  her  religious  worship,  as  a  sup- 
port to  the  organ,  a  trumpet,  drum,  fife,  bagpipe  and  tabor.  It 
was  as  a  bass  singer  that  David  Rizzio,  a  Piedmontese,  of  whom 
we  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to  speak,  was  recommended  to 
her  notice. 

With  Mary's  second  marriage,  commenced  the  vicissitudes 
and  calamities  of  her  life.  The  choice  of  a  husband  from  among 
her  numerous  suitors  was  a  task  of  no  little  delicacy.  The  Duke 
of  Anjou,  her  late  husband's  brother,  and  afterwards,  upon  the 
death  of  Charles  IX.,  King  of  France,  was  rejected  on  account  of 
his  relationship  ;  other  royal  aspirants  were  refused  on  account  of 
her  objections  to  a  continental  and  Catholic  alliance.  Elizabeth, 
miserable  in  her  childlessness,  desired  Mary  to  remain  a  widow, 
and  sent  her  word  that  if  she  married  without  her  consent,  she 
should  induce  the  Parliament  of  England  to  set  aside  her  succes- 
sion. She,  nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of  form,  offered  to  guide 
Mary's  choice,  and  suggested  her  own  favorite,  Dudley,  Earl  of 
Leicester,  weU  knowing  that  the  Scottish  queen  would  spurn  the 
low  born  English  subject.  At  last,  Mary  fixed  her  preference 
upon  a  man  four  years  her  junior,  Henry  Stuart^  Lord  Darnley, 
after  herself,  and  failing  issue  by  Elizabeth,  the  next  heir  to  the 

25 


194  MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS. 

English  throne.  His  personal  attractions  were  great ;  he  was 
tall,  graceful,  of  agreeable  and  animated  features  ;  Mary  said  of 
him  that  he  was  "  the  best  proportioned  long  man  she  had  seen." 
He  excelled  in  all  showy  accomplishments,  and  afiected  a  fond- 
ness for  music  and  poetry.  Rizzio  and  others  familiar  with 
Mary's  tastes  instructed  him  in  what  manner  he  could  best  pay 
his  com-t  to  the  queen.  Though  destitute  of  true  religious  feel- 
ing, he  was  a  Protestant  in  outward  form,  and  Mary  was  decided, 
in  deference  to  the  desire  of  her  subjects,  to  marry  none  but  an 
adherent  of  the  estabhshed  church.  She  was  deceived  in  Darn- 
ley's  mind,  character  and  education,  and  during  an  attack  of  the 
measles,  by  which  her  suitor  was  confined  to  his  room,  she  made 
up  her  mind,  in  her  sympathy  for  the  sufferer,  to  wed  him  when 
he  should  recover.  Having  conferred  upon  liim  various  titles, 
and  among  them  that  of  Duke  of  Albany,  and  having  obtained 
a  dispensation  from  the  pope — as  she  and  Darnley  were  first 
cousins — Mary  Stuart  was  married  to  her  lover  at  five  in  the 
morning  of  the  29th  of  July,  1565,  in  Holyrood  chapel,  bestow- 
ing upon  him,  by  the  act,  the  title  and  some  portion  of  tlie 
authority  of  King  of  Scotland.  A  handsomer  coujsle  had  never 
been  seen  in  Scotland  ;  Mary  was  in  the  full  flush  of  her  beauty 
at  the  age  of  twenty-three  ;  Darnley,  though  only  nineteen,  ap- 
peared like  a  man  young  at  thirty.  Armed  men  stood  aroiuid 
the  altar,  as  Elizabeth's  hostility  might  be  expected  at  any 
moment  to  manifest  itself  in  overt  acts.  Mary  was  dressed  in 
black,  in  memory  of  her  late  husband,  but  immediately  after  the 
ceremony,  she  assumed  garments  more  in  keeping  with  her  new 
condition. 

For  a  time,  Mary  was  happy,  and  she  lavished  upon  her 
husband  every  token  of  love  and  every  mark  of  distinction.  But 
the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  her,  at  the  expiration  of  a  few 
months,  that  she  had  united  lier  fortunes  with  a  weak,  headstrong 
and  inexperienced  boy.  He  was  intemperate,  licentious,  violent ; 
so  fickle  and  indiscreet,  that  he  abjured  the  Protestant  faith  and 


MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS.  195 

became  a  Catholic,  thus  mortally  offending  the  reformers  without 
winning  the  Catholics.  On  one  occasion,  at  a  civic  banquet,  while 
under  the  influence  of  wine,  he  spoke  to  the  queen  so  insolently 
that  she  left  the  table  in  tears.  He  was,  besides,  exceedingly  and 
unreasonably  ambitious,  and  Mary  felt  obliged,  for  her  own  sake 
and  for  that  of  her  country,  to  refuse  him  several  of  his  more 
importunate  demands.  Yexed  and  irritated,  Darnley  sought 
among  the  adherents  and  friends  of  his  wife  some  one  to  whom 
he  could  attribute  her  alienation  from  himself,  and  upon  whom 
he  could  wreak  his  vengeance. 

A  number  of  designing  nobles,  jealous  of  the  favor  enjoyed 
by  Rizzio,  now  French  secretary  to  the  queen  and  one  of  the 
most  faithful  servants  Mary  ever  had,  and  anxious  to  promote  a 
permanent  state  of  hostility  between  Darnley  and  his  wife,  per- 
suaded him  that  Rizzio  was  the  occasion  of  the  queen's  displeasure. 
They  knew  that  the  Piedmontese  was  unpopular  in  the  country, 
being  unjustly  suspected  of  exerting  an  undue  influence  over 
Mary,  and  often  spoken  of  as  the  minion  of  the  pope  and  the 
minister  of  antichrist.  The  simple  truth  appears  to  have  been 
that  "he  was  much  respected  by  his  mistress,  not  for  any  beauty 
or  external  grace  that  was  in  him,  being  rather  old,  ugly,  austere, 
and  disagreeable,  but  for  his  great  fidelity,  wisdom  and  prudence, 
and  on  account  of  several  other  good  qualities  which  adorned  his 
mind."  The  conspirators,  who  numbered  five  hundred,  easily 
engaged  Darnley  in  a  plot  to  assassinate  Rizzio,  and  appointed 
the  evening  of  Saturday,  the  9th  of  March,  1566,  for  the  perpe- 
tration of  the  crime.  One  of  their  number,  Patrick  Lord  Ruth- 
ven,  a  coward,  a  bigot,  and  a  broken  down  invalid,  undertook  to 
head  the  enterprise. 

Mary,  totally  unconscious  of  the  plot  now  so  near  its  consum- 
mation, sat  down  to  supper  in  a  cabinet  communicating  with  her 
bedroom,  at  seven  in  the  evening.  Some  half  a  dozen  persons, 
friends  or  attendants,  were  with  her,  and  among  them  was 
Rizzio.     At  eight,  Darnley  entered,   sat  down  beside  her,  and 


196  MARY,    QU  EE  N    0  F     SC  0  T  S. 

threw  his  arms  familiarly  around  her  waist.  Finding  Rizzio 
there,  he  remained — the  signal  to  the  conspirators  that  every- 
thing was  ready  for  the  attempt.  Ruthven  rushed  into  the 
room,  equipped  in  complete  armor.  He  had  lately  risen  from  a 
sick  bed  ;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  his  cheeks  hollow  ;  his  face  was 
ashy  pale,  and  his  whole  appearance  haggard  and  frightful. 
Exhausted  by  the  effort,  his  knees  shook,  and  his  armor  rattled 
and  clanked  loosely  upon  his  limbs.  He  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  gazed  fiercely  upon  Rizzio.  The  queen  indignantly 
bade  him  begone,  but  she  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  before 
torches  gleamed  in  the  passage  way,  and  the  room  was  filled  with 
armed  and  resolute  assassins.  Ruthven  drew  his  dagger,  and, 
exclaiming  that  his  business  was  with  Rizzio,  endeavored  to  seize 
him  ;  the  wretched  secretary,  seeing  that  his  time  was  come,  and 
losing  all  presence  of  mind,  pressed  into  the  recess  of  a  window, 
clasping  the  folds  of  Mary's  gown,  and  exclaiming,  in  his  native 
tongue,  "Giustizia!  Giustizia !"  Mary,  though  thus  placed 
between  the  conspirators  and  their  victim,  retained  her  self- 
possession.  She  ordered  Ruthven  to  withdraw,  threatening  him 
with  an  accusation  of  high  treason.  She  called  upon  Darnley  to 
protect  her,  but  the  recreant  husband  chose  to  remain  a  passive 
spectator  of  the  scene.  In  the  confusion,  the  lights  were  thrown 
down  and  extinguished  ;  with  hideous  oaths,  the  assassins  de- 
manded the  life  of  the  trembling  Piedmoutese.  The  first  blow 
struck  was  dealt  by  the  bastard  George  Douglas  ;  he  seized 
Darnley's  dagger  from  his  belt,  stabbed  Rizzio  with  it  over  Mary's 
shoulder,  and  left  it  sticking  in  the  wound.  Rizzio  was  dragged 
to  the  door  of  the  presence-chamber  and  dispatched  ;  fifty-six 
wounds  were  found  upon  his  body.  The  alarm  bell  was  rung, 
and  the  civic  authorities  of  Edinburgh  hastened  to  Holyrood 
palace.  They  called  upon  the  queen  to  show  herself  at  the 
window  and  assure  them  of  her  safety.  But  Mary,  who  was 
closely  confined  in  her  cabinet,  and  told  "that  if  she  spoke  to 
the  townspeople  they  would  cut  her  in  collops  and  cast  her  over 


MAE Y,    QUEEN     OP     SCOTS.  197 

the  walls,"  was  not  permitted  to  comply  with  their  request. 
Darnley,  however,  assured  the  crowd  that  the  queen  was  well 
and  required  no  assistance.  The  ruffian  Ruthven,  returning  im- 
brued in  Rizzio's  blood,  called  for  a  cup  of  wine,  and  seating 
himself  in  the  presence  of  Mary,  drained  it  at  one  draught  while 
she  was  standing  before  him. 

Mary  was  detained  a  prisoner  through  the  night,  and  the 
next  morning  was  visited  by  Darnley.  She  was  ignorant  of  the 
extent  of  his  guilt,  and  believed  his  protestations  that  he  had  no 
hand  in  the  murder  of  her  secretary.  She  employed  all  her 
eloquence  to  convince  him  that  in  associating  with  this  desperate 
cabal  he  was  acting  a  dangerous  part ;  that  his  only  hope  of 
advancement  lay  in  her  good  will,  not  in  the  friendship  of  assas- 
sins and  agitators.  Darnley,  always  vacillating,  and  now  once 
more  under  the  influence  of  the  lovely  pleader  before  him,  who, 
should  no  evil  consequence  ensue  from  the  alarm  of  the  night, 
might  in  a  few  months  become  the  mother  of  a  king,  yielded  to 
her  entreaties  and  consented  to  fly  with  her  to  Dunbar.  Accom- 
panied by  the  captain  and  two  officers  of  the  guard,  they  escaped 
on  horseback  at  midnight.  In  five  days,  Mary,  surrounded  by 
her  loyal  nobles,  returned  in  triumph  to  Edinburgh.  The  con- 
spirators fled  -  in  all  directions,  and  Ruthven  died  before  the 
summer  of  the  disease  to  which  he  was  a  prey.  But  two  of  the 
conspirators  were  executed  for  Rizzio's  murder,  the  ringleaders 
contriving  to  obtain  their  pardon  from  the  generous  and  indul- 
gent queen. 

On  the  19th  of  June,  Mary  gave  birth  to  a  son,  afterwards 
James  I.  of  England  and  VI.  of  Scotland.  The  birth  of  a  prince 
had  been  looked  forward  to  as  the  greatest  blessing  which  Provi- 
dence could  vouchsafe  to  Mary's  divided  kingdom,  and  the  intel- 
ligence was  received  with  every  demonstration  of  joy.  Elizabeth 
was  dancing  at  Greenwich  when  Mary's  letter,  communicating  the 
tidings,  aiTived.  "But  so  soon,"  says  Melville,  who  bore  the 
missive,  "  as  the  Secretary  Churchill  sounded  the  news  in  her 


198  MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS. 

ear  of  the  prince's  birth,  all  merriment  was  laid  aside  for  that 
night ;  every  one  that  was  present  marvelling  what  might  move 
so  sudden  a  changement.  For  the  queen  sat  down  with  her  hand 
upon  her  cheek,  and  bursting  out  to  some  of  her  ladies  how  that 
the  Queen  of  Scotland  was  lighter  of  a  fair  son,  and  that  she  was 
but  a  barren  stock."  After  this  envious  and  repining  speech, 
she  assured  Mehalle  that  the  joyful  news  he  had  brought  had 
recovered  her  out  of  a  heavy  sickness  which  had  held  her  for 
fifteen  da)'^s !  The  child  was  christened  with  great  pomp,  the 
festivities  far  surpassing  in  splendor  and  variety  any  which  the 
kings  and  queens  of  Scotland  had  given  upon  similar  occasions. 

The  conduct  of  Darnley  now  became  so  outrageous,  that  Mary 
was  often  in  tears,  and  was  heard  several  times  to  exclaim  : 
"Would  I  were  dead!"  The  lords  of  her  council  urged  a  divorce, 
but  she  rejected  the  advice,  saying,  "  I  will  that  you  do  nothing 
by  which  any  spot  may  be  laid  on  my  honor  or  conscience  ;  but 
wait  till  God  of  His  goodness  shall  put  a  remedy  to  it."  One  of 
the  most  zealous  advisers  of  the  project  of  a  divorce  was  the 
ambitious,  reckless  and  dissolute  James  Hepburne,  Earl  of  Both- 
well.  He  was  the  head  of  a  powerful  family  ;  and  having  always 
remained  faithful  to  the  interests  of  the  queen,  he  stood  high  in 
her  favor.  Though  he  had  been  married  but  a  few  months  pre- 
viousl}',  he  seems  to  have  conceived  at  this  period  the  daring 
scheme  of  succeeding  to  Darnley  as  King  of  Scotland  and  hus- 
band of  the  queen.  Finding  Mary  resolved  against  aj^plying  for 
a  divorce,  he  resolved  to  remove  Darnley  by  violent  means.  He 
concocted  a  plot  which  has  had  few  parallels  in  history  for 
audacity,  cruelty  and  villainy.  He  obtained  a  divorce  from  his 
wife,  on  the  plea  of  consanguinity,  and  thus  liberated  from  a  tie 
which  checked  his  soaring  ambition,  he  awaited  a  favorable  mo- 
ment for  putting  his  plan  into  execution. 

Darnley  was  at  this  time  taken  sick  of  the  small  pox,  at 
Glasgow.  Mary  at  once  set  out  to  visit  him ;  "his  danger,"  says 
Dr.  Gilbert  Stuart,  "awakened  all  the  gentleness  of  her  nature, 


MARY,    QUEEN     OF     SCOTS.  199 

and  she  forgot  the  wrongs  she  had  enchired.  Yieldmg  to  anxious 
and  tender  emotions,  she  left  her  cai)ital  and  her  palace,  in  the 
severest  season  of  the  year,  to  wait  upon  him.  Her  assiduities  and 
kindnesses  even  communicated  to  him  the  most  flattering  solace- 
ment ;  and  while  she  lingered  about  his  person  with  a  fond  solici- 
tude and  a  delicate  attention,  he  felt  that  the  sickness  of  his 
mind  and  the  virulence  of  his  disease  were  diminished."  Upon 
his  convalescence,  she  caused  him  to  be  removed  to  the  vicinity 
of  Holyrood  and  lodged  in  a  house  called  the  Kirk-of-Field. 
This  mansion  had  been  chosen  by  BothweU  and  his  accomplices, 
whose  motives  in  the  selection  Mary  was  far  from  suspecting. 
They  fixed  upon  it  on  account  of  its  lonely  situation,  but  recom- 
mended it  to  her  "  as  a  place  of  good  air."  Here  Darnley  spent 
ten  days,  Mary  visiting  him  constantly,  sometimes  bringing  her 
band  of  musicians  from  the  palace,  and  often  spending  the  night. 
Bothwell  resolved  upon  blowing  up  the  premises  with  gunpowder, 
and  this  point  being  settled,  only  delayed  the  execution  of  the 
plot  till  Mary  should  indicate,  a  sufficient  time  beforehand,  her 
intention  of  sleeping  a  night  at  Holyrood.  On  the  morning  of 
Sunday,  the  9th  of  February,  Bothwell  learned  that  the  queen 
intended  to  be  present  that  evening  at  the  marriage  of  one  of  her 
waiting-maids,  and  could  not,  therefore,  make  a  prolonged  visit 
to  the  Kirk-of-Field.  The  gunpowder  was  stealthily  conveyed 
to  the  house  by  his  accomplices.  Mary  left  Darnley  at  eleven 
o'clock  and  returned  to  Holyrood.  Bothwell,  to  divert  suspicion, 
appeared  at  the  wedding,  and  soon  afterwards  joined  the  conspi- 
rators at  the  lonely  house.  The  gunpowder  was  lying  in  a  heap 
upon  the  floor,  and  they  consulted  for  some  time  as  to  the  best 
method  of  setting  fire  to  it.  They  at  last  kindled  one  end  of 
a  piece  of  lint,  four  inches  long,  and  retired  to  await  the  event. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  not  the  slightest  sound  was  heard. 
Bothwell,  nervous  and  impatient,  was  on  the  point  of  returning, 
when  a  sudden  flash  and  a  tremendous  explosion  terminated 
his  suspense.     The  Kirk-of-Field  was  so  violently  rent  asunder, 


200  MARY,    QUEEN     OF     SCOTS. 

that  not  a  stone  remained  standing  upon  another.  The  body  of 
Darnley  was  carried  by  the  force  of  the  explosion  into  a  garden 
at  some  distance,  where  it  was  found  lifeless,  but  with  little 
external  injury.  Mary's  distress,  when  informed  of  the  disaster, 
knew  no  bounds  ;  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  apartment,  and 
refused  to  see  any  one,  even  her  counsellors,  during  the  day 
which  followed. 

Suspicion  soon  fell  upon  Bothwell,  and  upon  the  12th  of 
April,  1567,  he  was  brought  to  trial  in  the  Tolbooth  of  Edin- 
burgh. The  indictment  accused  him  of  being  "art  and  part  of 
the  cruel,  odious,  treasonable  and  abominaljle  slaughter  and 
murder  of  the  umwhile  the  right  high  and  mighty  prince  the 
king's  grace,  dearest  spouse  for  the  time  to  our  sovereign  lady 
the  queen's  majesty."  Matthew,  Earl  of  Lennox,  Darnley's 
father,  had  been  summoned  to  act  as  public  accuser,  or  "pur- 
suer." Instead  of  appearing,  he  sent  a  protest  by  a  servant,  in 
which  he  stated  that  the  cause  of  his  absence  was  the  shortness 
of  time,  the  want  of  the  necessary  proofs,  and  of  friends  and 
retainers  to  accompany  him  to  the  place  of  trial.  Bothwell's 
counsel  insisted  upon  their  right  to  jarocecd  at  once  with  the 
action.  The  judges  granted  them  the  privilege,  and  a  jury  was 
chosen.  Bothwell  pleaded  not  guilty,  and  in  the  absence  of  the 
pursuer,  no  evidence  was  taken  against  him.  The  case  being 
thus  given  to  the  jurors,  they  speedily  acquitted  Bothwell  of  the 
crime  laid  to  his  charge.  The  murderer  at  once  published  a 
challenge,  offering  to  sustain  his  innocence,  single-handed,  against 
all  such  as  might  dare  to  maintain  his  guilt.  No  champion, 
however,  ventured  to  appear. 

Bothwell's  next  object  was  to  marry  the  queen,  or  rather,  by 
marrying  the  queen,  to  obtain  the  crown  of  Scotland.  He  had 
little  hope  of  inspiring  her  with  any  affection  for  his  person,  but 
seems  to  have  expected  to  gain  his  ends  by  putting  himself 
forward  as  tlie  only  niiiii  in  the  realm  fit  to  cope  with  her  turlm- 
lent  sulijects,  or  possessing  sufficient  resolution  to  enable  Mary 


MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS.  201 

herself  to  maintain  her  seat  upon  the  throne.  On  the  20th  of 
April,  he  invited  the  members  of  parliament  to  a  supper  at 
Ainsly's  tavern.  When  the  wine  had  circulated  freely,  he  pro- 
duced a  document  which  he  had  previously  drawn  up,  to  the 
effect  that  the  signers  were  heartily  of  the  opinion  that  he  ought 
to  marry  the  queen,  and  that  they  would  bind  themselves  to 
give  him  all  necessary  counsel  and  assistance.  This,  after  con- 
sideration, was  signed  by  all  present  but  one.  Armed  with  this 
formidable  document,  Bothwell,  resolved  that  the  caprice  or  dis- 
inclination of  a  woman  should  be  no  serious  obstacle  to  his 
designs,  collected  a  force  of  one  thousand  horsemen,  and  inter- 
cepting Mary  while  on  her  return  from  Stirling  to  Edinburgh, 
seized  her  in  the  midst  of  her  attendants,  and  carried  her  a 
prisoner  to  his  castle  at  Dunbar.  For  ten  days  he  kept  her 
sequestrated,  spending  the  whole  time  with  her,  calling  to  his  aid 
every  artifice  of  aflfected  passion,  of  menace  and  of  jDrayer.  He 
flung  himself  at  her  feet,  and  even  threatened  her  with  dishonor 
and  death.  By  force  and  fraud  he  at  length  triumjDhed  over  her 
resistance,  and  on  the  15th  of  May  the  marriage  took  place. 

The  first  month  of  this  ill-starred  union  was  the  most  miser- 
able of  Mary's  life.  Bothwell  treated  her  with  such  indignity 
that  he  "  caused  her  to  shed  abundance  of  salt  tears."  He  kept 
her  "  environed  with  a  continual  guard  of  two  hundred  harque- 
buziers,  day  and  night."  It  appeared  subsequently  that  Both- 
well's  previous  wife  had  merely  been  divorced  from  him  as  a 
matter  of  form,  her  family  consenting  to  it  to  permit  Bothwell 
to  prosecute  his  schemes  of  ambition,  and  that  he  was  at  this 
time  maintaining  her  at  home.  "No  wonder,"  says  Bell,  "that 
under  such  an  accumulation  of  miseries — the  suspicion  with 
which  she  was  regarded  by  foreign  courts,  the  ready  hatred  of 
many  of  her  more  bigoted  Presbyterian  subjects,  the  de- 
pendence, almost  amounting  to  a  state  of  bondage,  in  which  she 
was  kept,  and  the  brutal  treatment  she  experienced  from  her 
worthless  husband — no  wonder  that  Mary  was  heard,  in  moments 

26 


202  MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS. 

almost  of  distraction,  to  express  an  intention  of  committmg 
suicide." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  very  lords  who  had  recommended 
the  marriage,  made  it  the  pretext  of  rebellion  against  Bothwell 
and  the  absolute  authority  in  which  he  was  seeking  to  intrench 
himself.  Both  parties  took  up  arms,  and  met  at  Carberry  HiU. 
The  first  day  passed  in  unavailing  negotiations,  and  a  battle  must 
have  ensued  upon  the  second,  had  not  Mary  taken  a  decisive  and 
most  unexpected  step  during  the  night.  She  sent  a  message  to 
the  lords  to  the  effect  that  she  would  quit  Bothwell  forever,  if 
they  would  reconduct  her  in  safety  to  Edinburgh  and  return  to 
their  allegiance.  She  persuaded  Bothwell  to  retire  from  the 
field,  and  from  that  moment  she  never  saw  him  again.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  her  lords,  who,  partly  to  gratify  their  retainers  by 
allowing  them  to  insult  a  Roman  Catholic  queen,  partly  because 
perfidy  was  more  congenial  to  their  nature  than  fidelity,  con- 
ducted her,  not  to  Holyrood,  but  to  the  castle  of  Loch  Leven, 
situated  in  the  centre  of  a  lake  and  owned  by  Lady  Douglas,  the 
mother  of  one  of  the  most  poAverful  of  the  rebels,  and  a  woman 
of  harsh  and  unfeeling  temper. 

To  the  custody  of  this  person  Mary  was  consigned  ;  she  was 
kept  in  durance  for  many  weeks,  her  enemies  trusting  that  her 
spirit  would  be  broken  by  the  ill  usage  to  which  she  was  sub- 
jected, and  that  she  would  finally  consent  to  abdicate  her  crown, 
as  a  means  of  obtaining  rehcf.  On  the  25th  of  July,  two  depu- 
ties sent  by  the  rebels  to  propose  terms  of  submission  had  an 
interview  with  her.  Sir  Robert  Melville,  whose  duty  it  was 
merely  to  argue  and  endeavor  to  persuade  her  to  affix  her  signa- 
ture to  the  act  of  abdication,  having  signally  failed,  called  in 
Lord  Lindsay,  his  colleague,  whose  assigned  province  it  was  to 
tlu-eaten  her  with  death,  if  she  refused  compliance.  Lindsay, 
armed  and  helnietcd,  rushed  into  the  room,  with  the  documents 
prepared  to  receive  her  signature.  Seizing  her  hand  in  his 
gauntleted  pahn,  he  swore  that  unless  she  subscribed  the  deeds 


MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS.  203 

without  delay,  he  would  himself  sign  them  in  her  blood.  Mary 
nearly  swooned  with  terror,  for  she  remembered  that  Lindsay 
was  by  Ruthven's  side  when  Rizzio  was  slain  at  her  feet.  Mel- 
ville, in  order  to  ^^revent  her  from  fainting,  whispered  in  her  ear 
that  a  signature  thus  given  in  captivity  and  extorted  by  force, 
could  not  be  valid.  Lindsay,  his  eyes  now  gleaming  with  rage, 
pointed  to  the  lake,  and  vowed  that  if  she  hesitated  one  moment 
longer,  he  would  cast  her  headlong  from  the  castle.  Mary 
mechanically  seized  a  pen,  and,  without  reading  a  syllable  of  the 
papers,  calling  on  those  present  to  witness  that  she  did  so  only 
through  fear  of  death,  affixed  her  name  to  them  with  a  trembhng 
hand.  Two  days  afterwards,  her  son,  who  was  little  more  than 
a  year  old,  was  publicly  crowned  at  Stirling.  He  was  educated 
by  Mary's  deadliest  foes,  and  his  subsequent  career  too  plainly 
showed  that  a  son  may  be  so  wrought  upon  in  his  tender  years 
as  to  part  even  with  that  first  and  holiest  of  sentiments,  affection 
for  a  mother. 

Mary  made  two  attempts  to  escape  from  Loch  Leven.  The 
first  was  unsuccessful ;  she  had  already  taken  her  seat  in  the 
boat  which  was  to  convey  her  to  the  shore,  when  she  was 
betrayed  by  the  extreme  whiteness  and  beauty  of  her  hand. 
A  month  afterwards,  a  second  attempt  was  made  with  more 
success  :  Mary  assisted  the  single  oarsman  in  rowing,  and  upon 
reaching  the  shore,  mounted  a  horse  and  galloped  the  whole  of 
the  night.  In  three  days,  she  was  at  the  head  of  6,000  men 
devoted  to  her  cause.  Murray,  tlie  regent  during  the  nonage  of 
the  king,  collected  his  forces  and  the  battle  of  Langside  ensued. 
The  queen  beheld  the  conflict,  and  saw  the  fortune  of  the  day 
turn  signally  against  her.  She  saw  her  army  in  fuU  flight  before 
the  victorious  usurper.  Her  general.  Lord  Herries,  took  her 
horse's  bridle  and  turned  his  head  from  the  dismal  scene.  Mary 
fled  to  the  south,  and  first  sought  repose  at  the  distance  of  sixty 
miles  from  the  field,  at  the  Abbey  of  Dundreddan  ;  rejecting  the 
advice  of  Herries — which  was  to  seek  protection  in  France — she 


204  MARY,    QUEEN     OF    SCOTS. 

adopted  the  fatal  resolution  of  throwing  herself  upon  the  com- 
passion and  genei'osity  of  Elizabeth.  As  she  approached  the 
fi'ontier,  her  resolution  faltered  ;  but  as  no  other  alternative  pre- 
sented itself,  she  pushed  on  and  entered  Elizabeth's  dominions 
at  the  town  of  Carlisle. 

The  English  queen,  incapable  of  magnanimity  or  pity,  be- 
haved towards  her  fallen  sister  with  the  most  odious  hypocrisy 
and  artifice.  In  order  to  preserve  a  show  of  decency,  she  sent 
noblemen  of  suitable  rank  to  receive  her,  ha\ang,  however,  in- 
structed them  on  no  account  to  sufier  her  to  leave  the  kingdom. 
She  refused  to  admit  her  to  an  interview,  alleging  the  serious 
imputation  under  which  she  labored  of  being  accessory  to  Darn- 
ley's  death,  as  a  sufficient  motive.  Mary,  in  her  indignation,  as 
Ehzabeth  clearly  foresaw,  at  once  offered  to  submit  her  cause  to 
her,  and  to  produce  convincing  proofs  of  her  innocence.  Eliza- 
beth thus  craftily  became  the  umpire  between  Mary  and  her 
subjects.  She  soon  after  appointed  a  conference  to  be  held  at 
York,  where  Mary,  compelled  to  stifle  her  indignation  at  the 
humiliation,  was,  as  it  were,  tried  by  the  commissioners  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Murray  appeared  in  person,  and  accused 
Mary  of  having  maintained  an  illicit  intercourse  with  Bothwell 
during  her  husband's  lifetime,  and  of  having  been  jiri^^  to 
Darnley's  murder.  In  support  of  the  fii'st  allegation,  he  pro- 
duced eight  love-letters,  eleven  amatory  sonnets,  and  one  mar- 
riage contract,  all  alleged  to  be  in  the  handwriting  of  Mary, 
and  addressed  by  her  to  Bothwell.  Her  representatives,  by  her 
command,  repelled  the  accusation  with  indignation,  and  declared 
the  letters  forgeries,  which  they  have  since  been  sufficiently 
proved.  The  conference  was  concluded,  as  had  been  the  pur- 
pose of  Elizabeth  from  the  beginning,  without  any  decision  being 
rendered  ;  Murray,  though  accused  by  Mary  of  having  resorted 
to  force  to  secure  her  abdication,  was  permitted  to  return  to 
Scotland,  and  Mary  naturally  expected  to  be  also  set  at  lib- 
erty.    But   Elizabeth  sent  her  word  that  liberty  was  only  to 


MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS.  205 

be  obtained  by  voluntarily  renouncing  her  throne  and  country  ; 
she  would  then  be  allowed  to  reside  in  privacy  and  without 
molestation  in  England.  Disdaining  liberty  upon  these  disgrace- 
ful terms,  she  remained  the  captive  of  her  cruel  and  ungenerous 
sister  queen. 

The  last  eighteen  years  of  Mary's  life  were  spent  in  hopeless 
captivity.  She  was  transferred  from  dungeon  to  dungeon,  and 
placed  successively  in  the  charge  of  various  noblemen,  but  no 
improvement  was  permitted  in  her  condition.  On  the  contrary, 
each  succeeding  year  found  her  with  diminished  comforts  and  in 
failing  health.  The  dampness  of  her  prisons  rendered  her  rheu- 
matic and  infirm  at  the  age  of  thirty.  "Here  the  sun,"  she 
wrote  to  a  friend  in  France,  "  can  never  penetrate,  neither  does 
any  pure  air  ever  visit  this  habitation,  on  which  descend  driz- 
zling damps  and  eternal  fogs,  to  such  excess  that  not  an  article 
of  furniture  can  be  placed  beneath  the  roof,  but  in  four  days  it 
becomes  covered  with  green  mould."  Mary's  principal  occupa- 
tion was  needle-work  ;  she  attended  to  her  religious  duties  with 
solicitous  regularity ;  and  from  time  to. time  she  sought  to  beguile 
the  heavy  hours  in  French  composition.  She  endured  with  un- 
varying gentleness  the  discomforts  of  her  situation — a  proof  at 
once  of  the  sweetness  of  her  temper  and  of  the  tranquillity  of  her 
conscience. 

At  last,  in  the  year  1686,  the  termination  of  her  woes  ap- 
proached. Elizabeth,  during  the  eighteen  years  of  Mary's  cap- 
tivity, had  been  stretched  upon  the  rack  of  fear  for  her  own 
life  and  throne.  Plot  had  succeeded  plot,  many  of  them  with 
the  ostensible  purpose  of  releasing  the  Queen  of  Scots.  Mary 
openly  avowed  her  intention  of  cooperating  with  those  who 
aspired  to  be  her  deUverers,  and  of  accepting  freedom  at  their 
hands,  but  she  strenuously  denied  that  she  had  been,  or  would 
be,  privy  to  any  attempt  upon  the  person  or  against  the  au- 
thority of  Elizabeth.  The  latter,  failing  to  implicate  Mary 
in  any  traitorous  project,  finally  induced  a  servile  parhament 


206  MART,    QUEE  N     OF    SC  OTS. 

to  pass  a  law  to  the  effect  that  not  only  conspirators,  but  those 
in  whose  cause  they  conspired,  though  innocent  or  even  igno- 
rant of  their  acts,  should  equally  suffer  death,  the  penalty  of 
treason.  Babington's  plot  soon  after  offered  an  excuse  for 
bringing  Mary  to  trial  under  this  law. 

Anthony  Babington  was  a  young  man  of  fortune  in  Derby- 
shire. He  had  long  cherished  a  romantic  desire  to  perform  some 
chivalrous  exploit  for  the  dehverance  of  Mary.  He  became  the 
first  English  proselyte  to  an  idea  conceived  in  France,  that  Eliza- 
beth's late  excommunication  by  Pope  Pius  V.  had  been  dictated 
by  the  immediate  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  queen, 
therefore,  in  the  eyes  of  the  fanatics  holding  this  behef,  was 
an  enemy  of  heaven,  and  her  assassination  would  be  an  act 
calculated  to  obtain  the  divine  favor.  The  release  of  Maiy 
formed  part  of  the  purpose  of  the  conspirators,  and  she  con- 
sented to  enter  into  their  schemes  as  far  as  her  own  interests 
were  concerned,  but  no  further.  The  plot  was  discovered,  and 
all  engaged  in  it  were  arrested.  Fourteen  of  them  were  at  once 
condemned  and  executed,  and  Mary  was  arraigned  as  an  accessory. 
She  was  imprisoned  at  the  time  at  the  castle  of  Fotheringay,  in 
Northamptonshire,  under  the  charge  of  Sir  Amias  Paulet.  On 
the  11th  of  October,  Ehzabeth's  commissioners,  appointed  to  hear 
the  cause,  arrived.  Mary  refused  to  acknowledge  their  jurisdic- 
tion. "I  am  no  subject  to  Elizabeth,"  she  said,  "but  an  inde- 
pendent queen  as  well  as  she  ;  and  I  wiU  consent  to  nothing 
unbecoming  the  majesty  of  a  crowned  head."  For  two  days  she 
combated  their  arguments  and  denied  their  authority,  but  was 
finally  entrapped  by  the  specious  plea  that  by  avoiding  a  trial  she 
must  inevitably  excite  suspicion  and  injure  her  own  reputation. 
She  yielded  to  these  insidious  representations,  and  consented  to 
defend  herself  against  a  charge  of  high  treason. 

"There  was  never  an  occasion,"  sa3'S  Bell,  "throughout  the 
whole  of  Mary's  life,  in  which  she  appeared  to  greater  advantage 
than  this.     In  the  presence  of  all  the  pomp,  learning  and  talent 


MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS.  207 

of  England,  she  stood  alone  and  undaunted  ;  evincing,  in  the  mo- 
dest dignity  of  her  bearing,  a  mind  conscious  of  its  own  integrity 
and  superior  to  the  malice  of  fortune.  Elizabeth's  craftiest  law- 
yers and  ablest  politicians  were  assembled  to  probe  her  to  the 
quick — to  press  home  every  argument  which  ingenuity  could  de- 
vise and  eloquence  embellish- — to  dazzle  her  with  a  blaze  of  eru- 
dition or  involve  her  in  a  maze  of  technical  perplexities.  Mary 
had  no  counsellor,  no  adviser,  no  friend.  Her  very  papers,  to 
which  she  might  have  wished  to  refer,  had  been  taken  from  her  ; 
and  there  was  not  one  to  plead  her  cause  or  defend  her  inno- 
cence. Her  bodily  infirmities  imparted  only  a  greater  lustre  to 
her  mental  preeminence  ;  and  not  in  all  the  fascinating  splendor  of 
her  youth  and  beauty,  not  on  the  morning  of  her  first  bridal  day, 
when  Paris  rang  with  acclamations  in  her  praise,  was  Mary  Stuart 
so  much  to  be  admired,  as  when,  weak  and  worn  out,  she  stood 
calmly  before  the  myrmidons  of  a  rival  queen." 

Mary  defended  herself  with  composure,  dignity  and  acuteness. 
She  denied  all  connection  with  Babington's  conspiracy,  except  so 
far  as  it  aimed  at  her  own  deliverance.  "  I  would  disdain,"  she 
said,  "  to  purchase  all  that  is  most  valuable  upon  earth  by  the 
assassination  of  the  meanest  of  the  human  race  ;  and  worn  out, 
as  I  now  am,  by  cares  and  sufferings,  the  prospect  of  a  crown  is 
not  so  inviting  that  I  should  ruin  my  soul  in  order  to  obtain  it. 
Neither  am  I  a  stranger  to  the  feelings  of  humanity,  nor  un- 
acquainted with  the  duties  of  religion,  and  it  is  my  nature  to  be 
more  inclined  to  the  devotion  of  Esther  than  to  the  sword  of  Ju- 
dith. If  ever  I  have  given  consent  by  my  words,  or  even  by  my 
thoughts,  to  any  attempt  against  the  life  of  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, far  from  declining  the  judgment  of  men,  I  shall  not  even 
pray  for  the  mercy  of  God."  But  eloquence  and  arguments 
were  thrown  away  upon  judges  instructed  beforehand  what  ver- 
dict to  render,  and  a  sentence,  universally  declared  iniquitous, 
was  pronounced  against  her. 

Ehzabeth,  deaf  to  the  reproaches  and  menaces  by  which  she 


208  MARY,    QUE  EN     OF    SC  OTS.     . 

was  assailed,  indifferent  to  the  horror  which  the  outrage  of 
Mary's  condemnation  had  excited  throughout  Europe,  was  firmly 
resolved  to  execute  the  sentence,  though  she  affected  sensibility 
and  hesitation.  Her  subservient  parliament  dissuaded  her  from 
leniency,  calhng  to  her  mind  the  example  of  God's  vengeance 
upon  Saul  for  sparing  Agag.  She  replied  with  the  hypocritical 
prayer  that  they  would  consider  if  the  public  safety  might  not  be 
otherwise  provided  for.  But  her  meaning  was  well  understood, 
and  the  request  was  fearlessly  repeated.  Elizabeth,  before 
signing  the  death-warrant,  let  fall  an  intimation,  in  her  anxiety 
to  shift  upon  others  the  responsibility  of  Mary's  death,  which 
might  stimulate  Paulet,  the  jailer,  to  extricate  her  from  the 
dilemma,  by  assassinating  or  poisoning  his  royal  prisoner.  Pau- 
let rejected  the  proposal  with  disdain.  Upon  this  Elizabeth 
ordered  her  secretary,  Davidson,  to  bring  her  the  death-warrant, 
to  which  she  dehberately  and  without  shrinking,  affixed  her 
signature.  On  the  7th  of  February,  the  Earls  of  Shrewsbury, 
Kent,  and  others,  commissioned  to  attend  Queen  Mary's  exe- 
cution, arrived  at  Fotheringay  Castle.  Mary  was  ill  and  in  bed, 
but  being  informed  that  they  came  upon  a  matter  of  import- 
ance, she  arose  and  received  them.  They  broke  to  her  gently 
the  nature  of  their  errand,  and  one  of  their  number  read 
the  warrant  for  her  execution.  Mary  replied,  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  that  she  had  expected  death,  and  was  not  unpre- 
pared to  die,  though  she  regretted  that  the  order  proceeded  from 
Elizabeth.  She  then  protested  upon  a  volume  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment lying  before  her,  that  she  had  never,  directly  or  indirectly, 
sought  or  compassed  the  assassination  of  Elizabeth — a  jjrotesta- 
tiou  wliich  the  earls  regarded  as  without  significance,  made  as  it 
was  upon  a  Catholic  Bible.  Mary  then  asked  if  no  foreign 
nation  had  interposed  in  her  behalf ;  if  her  son,  James  of  Scot- 
land, was  well  and  had  manifested  any  interest  in  her  fate.  She 
then  inquired  of  Shrewsbury  when  her  execution  was  to  take 
place.     He  replied  that  the  hour  appointed  was  eight,  the  next 


MARY,    QUEEN    OP    SCOTS.  209 

morning.  Mary  betrayed  some  agitation  at  the  indecorous 
haste  thus  made,  saying  that  it  was  more  sudden  than  she  had 
expected.  She  requested  to  be  left  alone,  that  she  might  make 
her  will  and  otherwise  prepare  for  death. 

Upon  the  departure  of  the  earls,  Mary  bade  her  waiting  maids 
hasten  supper.  "  Come,  Jane  Kennedy,"  she  said,  "cease  your 
weeping  and  be  busy."  When  the  sad  meal  was  over,  she 
pledged  every  one  of  her  attendants  in  a  glass  of  wine  ;  they 
fell  upon  their  knees  to  drink  the  melancholy  toast.  Upon 
the  margin  of  the  inventory  of  her  wardrobe,  furniture  and 
jewels,  she  wi'ote  the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  she  wished 
each  article  to  be  given,  forgetting  none  of  her  friends,  either 
present  or  absent.  She  next  composed  her  will,  which  is  stiU 
extant,  writing  rapidly  and  without  once  lifting  her  pen  from 
the  paper,  and  covering  four  large  closely-written  pages.  No 
subject  or  person  of  consequence  was  omitted.  She  sent  to  her 
confessor,  whom  she  was  not  permitted  to  see,  as  he  was  a 
CathoHc,  requesting  him  to  pray  for  her,  and  to  indicate  to  her 
such  passages  in  the  Bible  as  were  most  appropriate  for  her  to 
read.  She  retired  to  bed  at  two  in  the  morning,  but  was  unable 
to  sleep.  Her  lips  were  frequently  in  motion,  and  she  held  her 
hands  clasped  and  raised  imploringly  towards  heaven. 

She  rose  at  daybreak,  and  with  the  assistance  of  her  maids, 
who  had  passed  the  night  in  weeping,  dressed  herself  with  studied 
care,  choosing  a  robe  of  rich  black  silk,  bordered  with  crimson 
velvet,  over  which  was  thrown  a  satin  mantle.  At  the  appointed 
hour  the  sheriff  appeared,  and  Mary,  after  a  brief  prayer,  signified 
her  willingness  to  accompany  him.  Her  maids  expected  to 
follow  her  to  the  scaffold,  but  the  harsh  order  of  Elizabeth  was 
that  Mary  should  proceed  thither  unattended.  They  were  torn 
from  her  and  the  door  was  closed  upon  their  shrieks  and  lamen- 
tations. Jane  Kennedy  and  one  other  were  subsequently  allowed 
to  support  her  to  the  scaffold.  This  was  a  platform  erected  in 
the  hall  in  which  she  had  been  tried.     On  one  side  of  the  block 

27 


210  MARY,    QUEEN     OP    SCOTS. 

were  the  executioner  and  his  aid  ;  on  the  other,  the  Earls  of 
Kent  and  Shrewsbury.  The  death-warrant  was  read,  but  the 
smile  and  absent  expression  upon  Mary's  features  told  that  her 
thoughts  had  preceded  her  soul  to  the  spirit-land.  Her  officious 
persecutors  now  besought  her  to  join  them  in  devotion  according 
to  the  Protestant  form.  She  declined,  but  falling  on  her  knees, 
and  clasping  her  crucifix  in  her  hands,  prayed  fervently  alone,  but 
aloud.  She  prayed  for  herself,  for  the  Queen  of  England,  for  her 
friends  and  enemies.  Jane  Kennedy  bound  her  eyes  with  a 
gold-bordered  handkerchief,  and  Mary  Stuart  laid  her  head  upon 
the  block;  her  last  words  were:  "Oh  Lord,  in  thee  have  I 
hoped,  and  into  thy  hands  I  commit  my  spirit."  The  exe- 
cutioner's arm  was  unskillful  or  unsteady,  for  it  was  at  the  third 
blow  only  that  he  separated  her  head  from  her  body.  His 
assistant  then  raised  the  head  by  the  hair,  ciying,  "  God  save 
EUzabeth,  Queen  of  England!"  The  spectators  were  dissolved 
in  tears,  and  but  one  deep  voice — that  of  the  Earl  of  Kent — 
responded  "Amen!" 

Had  Mary  Stuart's  career  been  as  prosperous  as  it  was 
calamitous,  her  life  and  character  would  probably  have  escaped 
censure.  But  there  was  such  a  preponderance  of  adversity,  that 
many  have  been  induced  to  give  ready  credence  to  the  calumnies 
of  which  she  was  the  object,  conceiving  that  a  queen  who  was  so 
constantly  unfortunate,  must,  by  her  own  actions,  in  some  degree 
have  invited  and  deserved  her  fate.  For  two  centuries  Mary  has 
furnished  the  theme  of  an  acrimonious  warfare  to  historians  and 
controvertists  ;  but  during  the  last  fifty  years  all  uncertainty 
has  been  set  at  rest,  and  the  subject  may  be  regarded  as  ex- 
hausted. We  may  now  safely  say  with  the  Archbishop  of  Bruges, 
who  was  appointed  to  preach  Mary's  funeral  sermon  in  Paris : 
"Marble,  and  brass,  and  iron  decay,  or  are  devoured  by  rust; 
but  in  no  age,  however  long  the  world  may  endure,  will  the 
memory  of  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots  and  Dowager  of  France, 
cease  to  be  regarded  with  affectionate  admiration." 


^  nuiiver 


POCAHOITAS 


Captain  John  Smith,  of  Lincolnshire  in  England,  after  having 
spent  an  adventurous  apprenticeship  in  the  art  of  war  in  the  Low 
Countries  and  in  Turkey,  set  sail  from  London  in  December, 
1606,  for  the  fertile  and  salubrious  coasts  of  Virginia.  Captain 
Bartholomew  Gosnold,  who  had  already  made  a  prosperous 
voyage  to  New  England,  George  Percy,  the  brother  of  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland,  Mr.  Wingfield,  a  merchant,  and  Mr.  Hunt, 
a  clergyman,  accompanied  Smith  and  the  colonists,  who,  number- 
ing one  hundred  and  five  souls,  embarked  in  three  small  vessels. 
They  followed  the  old  route  by  the  Canaries  and  the  West  Indies. 
Smith  became  so  popular  with  the  colonists,  that  his  jealous 
colleagues  accused  him  of  forming  a  conspiracy  by  which  he  was 
to  make  himself  king  of  Virginia  ;  they  kept  him  in  prison 
during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage.  Land  was  discovered  at 
the  mouth  of  Chesapeake  Bay  late  in  April,  1607  ;  it  was  named 
Cape  Henry,  in  honor  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  A  river  empty- 
ing its  watei's  into  the  bay  was  named  James  River,  in  honor  of 
the  king.  The  strangers  sailed  into  this  stream,  and  ascended  a 
distance  of  forty  miles  from  its  mouth.  Here  the  landscape  was 
so  inviting,  and  the  early  beauties  of  a  Virginia  spring  were  so 
alluring,  that  on  the  13th  of  May  they  resolved  to  pitch  their 


212  POCAHONTAS. 

tents  ;  and  they  gave  to  the  site  thus  chosen  the  name  of 
Jamestown.  The  river's  bank  was  so  bold  that  their  ships  rode 
in  six  fathoms  water,  though  moored  to  the  trees  on  the  land. 

At  this  period,  the  extent  of  country  now  known  as  Virginia 
was  occupied  by  twenty  thousand  Indians,  eight  thousand  of 
them  being  the  subjects  of  Powhatan,  a  savage  of  warlike 
renown  and  superior  talents.  His  dominions,  acquired  by 
inheritance,  he  had  extended  by  conquest,  and  by  his  arts  and 
the  force  of  his  character,  had  united  forty  tribes  under  his  own 
single  authority.  He  looked  with  enmity  upon  the  colonists,  and 
circumstances  made  him  at  an  early  period  their  implacable  foe. 
Before  many  months  had  elapsed,  the  chief  management  of  their 
affairs  devolved  upon  Smith,  a  result  which  all  had  regarded 
as  inevitable  sooner  or  later.  He  devoted  himself  energetically 
to  the  building  of  Jamestown,  and  to  the  obtaining  of  provisions 
wherewith  to  stock  it.  He  made  a  foray  into  an  Indian  settle- 
ment, and  by  a  judicious  use  of  his  firearms,  induced  a  party 
of  savages  to  load  his  boat  with  corn,  venison  and  wild  fowl,  and 
to  accept  beads  and  hatchets  in  return.  He  repeated  his  excur- 
sions from  time  to  time,  though  dissensions  invariably  broke  out 
among  his  people  during  his  absence.  Before  the  approach 
of  winter,  he  had  gained  such  an  ascendency  over  the  Indians, 
that  on  invading  their  territory  he  was  certain  to  find  them 
awaiting  his  coming,  with  baskets  laden  with  corn,  beans  and 
pumpkins.  The  bays  and  rivers  were  covered  with  ducks  and 
geese,  and  the  tables  of  the  adventurers  were  thus  bountifully 
spread. 

In  one  of  his  attempts  to  penetrate  to  the  source  of  the 
Chickahominy  River,  being  very  insufficiently  attended.  Smith's 
party  was  attacked  by  three  hundred  savages  led  by  Opechan- 
canough,  Powhatan's  brother.  Though  wounded  in  the  thigh, 
he  bound  one  of  his  Indian  guides  to  his  left  arm,  using  him  as  a 
buckler,  and  at  the  same  time  plied  his  musket  so  efi'cctively 
that  he  killed  three  of  his  assailants  and  wounded  several  others. 


POCAHONTAS.  213 

While  attempting  to  reach  his  canoe,  he  sank,  with  his  buckler 
on  his  arm,  up  to  his  waist  in  a  bog.  The  savages  dared  not 
approach  him,  till,  benumbed  with  cold,  he  threw  away  his  arms 
and  shield  in  token  of  surrender.  They  extricated  him  from 
the  morass,  carried  him  to  their  bivouac,  and  attempted  to 
restore  the  circulation  of  his  frozen  blood  by  vigorous  friction. 

Smith,  without  condescending  to  beg  for  his  life,  requested 
to  speak  with  the  chief.  Upon  being  presented  to  Opechan- 
canough,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  portable  ivory  compass, 
which  he  used  to  guide  his  course  through  the  woods.  He  called 
the  chief's  attention  to  the  restless  play  of  the  needle,  at  the  same 
time  attempting  an  explanation  of  the  wonderful  purpose  it  was 
made  to  serve.  In  his  own  account  of  the  interview,  he  states 
that  he  went  on  to  expound  the  mysteries  of  astronomy,  the 
alternations  of  the  seasons  and  the  revolution  of  the  earth,  ' '  and 
how  the  sunne  did  chase  the  night  about  the  world  continually ;" 
but  those  who  are  aware  how  difficult  it  is  to  comprehend 
these  abstruse  matters,  and  to  obtain  an  adequate  conception  of 
the  Copernican  system,  even  with  the  aid  of  diagrams  and  an 
orrery,  will  probably  conclude  that  Smith  entirely  overrated  his 
skill  in  pantomime.  But,  at  any  rate,  the  interesting  little  dial, 
which  was  doubtless  taken  for  a  god  or  a  medicine,  saved  him 
ft-om  the  immediate  death  to  which  he  was  doomed,  and  he  was 
taken  in  procession  to  the  village  of  Orapax.  Here  the  warriors 
performed  a  hideous  war  dance  around  him,  to  the  dehght  of  the 
assembled  squaws  and  pappooses.  He  was  then  plied  so  bounti- 
fully with  excellent  fare,  that  he  imagined  he  was  to  be  fattened 
for  the  table — a  calumnious  supposition,  by  the  way,  as  the 
Indians  of  Korth  America  have  always  been  free  from  the  dis- 
gusting practice  of  cannibahsm. 

Some  time  after  this,  Smith  was  taken  to  Werowocomoco, 
the  residence  of  Powhatan,  the  great  chief.  He  was  detained 
for  a  time,  that  the  emperor  might  receive  him  with  becom- 
ing ceremony.      He  was  at  last  introduced  into  a  wigwam  of 


214  POCAHONTAS. 

unusual  size,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  blazing  fire.  At 
one  end,  upon  a  rude  throne,  sat  Powhatan,  a  man  of  noble 
stature,  and  of  majestic,  though  severe  demeanor.  He  was 
dressed  in  raccoon  skins,  "the  tayles  all  hanging  by."  On 
one  side  of  him  was  his  daughter  Matachanna;  on  the  other, 
his  younger  and  favorite  daughter,  Matoaka,  the  "  Snow- 
feather,"  destined  in  the  coming  hour  to  render  herself  im- 
mortal, under  the  beautiful  but  assumed  name  of  Pocahontas. 
Against  each  wall  of  the  wigwam  sat  a  row  of  women,  their 
faces  and  shoulders  painted  red,  their  hair  adorned  with  the 
white  down  of  birds,  and  their  necks  ornamented  with  beads. 

The  queen  of  Apamatuck  brought  the  guest  water  with 
which  to  wash  his  hands,  and  another  lady  of  rank  a  bunch 
of  feathers  with  which  to  dry  them.  A  consultation  was  then 
held,  at  the  end  of  which  two  large  stones  were  laid  before 
Powhatan.  Smith  was  dragged  to  the  altar  thus  improvised, 
and  his  head  placed  upon  the  stones.  Some  half  dozen  sav- 
ages raised  their  clubs  in  the  air,  waiting  for  Powhatan's  sig- 
nal to  beat  out  the  helpless  victim's  brains.  Matoaka  for  a 
moment  stayed  her  father's  purpose  by  her  tears  and  entrea- 
ties ;  but  finding  all  intercession  unavailing,  she  sprang  forward, 
kneeled  over  Smith's  prostrate  form,  clasped  his  head  in  her 
arms,  and  placing  her  own  upon  it,  seemed  determined  to  share 
his  fate.  This  heroic  and  generous  act  touched  the  hearts 
of  Powhatan  and  the  executioners  ;  the  chief  yielded  to  the 
solicitations  of  his  daughter,  and  set  the  sentence  of  death 
aside,  resolving  to  employ  Smith  as  an  artisan,  to  make  hatchets, 
bows  and  arrows  for  himself,  and  bells  and  beads  for  Matoaka. 

"The  accovmt  of  this  most  beautiful  and  touching  scene," 
says  Mr.  nillard,  "  familiar  as  it  is  to  every  one,  can  hardly  be 
read  with  unmoistened  eyes.  The  incident  is  so  dramatic  and 
startling,  that  it  seems  to  preserve  the  freshness  of  novelty 
amidst  a  thousand  repetitions.  We  could  almost  as  reasonably 
have  expected  an  angel  to  have  come  down  from  heaven  and 


POCAHONTAS.  215 

rescued  the  captive,  as  that  his  deliverer  should  have  sprung 
from  the  bosom  of  Powhatan's  family.  The  universal  sympa- 
thies of  mankind,  and  the  best  feelings  of  the  human  heart, 
have  redeemed  this  scene  from  the  obscurity  which,  in  the  pro- 
gress of  time,  gathers  over  all  but  the  most  important  events. 
It  has  pointed  a  thousand  morals  and  adorned  a  thousand  tales. 
Innumerable  bosoms  have  throbbed,  and  are  yet  to  throb,  with 
generous  admiration  for  this  daughter  of  a  people  whom  we 
have  been  too  ready  to  underrate.  Had  we  known  nothing 
of  her  but  what  is  related  in  this  incident,  she  would  deserve 
the  eternal  gratitude  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  country,  for 
the  fate  of  the  colony  may  be  said  to  have  hung  upon  the  arms 
of  Smith's  executioners.  He  was  its  life  and  soul,  and  with- 
out the  magic  influence  of  his  personal  qualities,  it  would  have 
abandoned  in  despair  the  project  of  permanently  settling  the 
country,  and  sailed  to  England  by  the  first  opportunity." 

Matoaka  was  at  this  period  twelve  years  old,  having  been 
born  in  1595.  Of  her  life  up  to  the  period  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  nothing  whatever  is  known,  and  history  has  preserved 
no  record  of  the  influences  which  conspired  to  form  a  cha- 
racter which  would  have  been  beautiful  anywhere,  and  was  a 
marvel  in  one  reared  in  a  Virginia  forest,  amid  lawless  and 
untutored  savages.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  upon  the  set- 
tlement of  the  English  colonists  in  their  vicinity,  Powhatan 
changed  her  name  to  that  of  Pocahontas — signifying  "a  run 
between  two  hills."  He  appears  to  have  believed  that  by 
thus  concealing  her  true  name,  he  should  deprive  the  English 
of  the  power  of  harming  her,  should  she,  by  any  mischance, 
fall  into  their  hands. 

Smith  was  detained  two  days,  and  then  dismissed  with 
compliments  and  promises  of  friendship.  Powhatan  often 
sent  Pocahontas  to  Jamestown  with  provisions,  of  which  the 
colonists  stood  in  great  need.  Mr.  William  Strachey,  the 
first  secretary  of  the    colony,   makes   the    following   incidental 


216  POCAHONTAS. 

mention  of  these  visits  of  Pocahontas,  in  his  "Historic  of  Tra- 
vaile  into  Virginia  Britannia:"  "The  better  sort  of  women 
cover  themselves  for  the  most  part  all  over  with  skin  man- 
tells  finely  drest,  shagged  and  fringed  at  the  skirt.  Their 
younger  women  goe  not  shadowed  amongst  their  own  com- 
panie  until  they  be  nigh  eleaven  or  twelve  returns  of  the 
leafe  old — for  so  they  accompt  and  bring  about  the  yeare — 
nor  are  they  much  ashamed  thereof,  and  therefore  would  the 
before  remembered  Pochahuntas,  a  well-featured  but  wanton 
young  girl,  Powhatan's  daughter,  sometyme  resorting  to  our 
fort,  get  the  boyes  forth  with  her  into  the  markett  place,  and 
make  them  wheele,  falling  on  their  hands,  turning  up  their 
heeles  upwards,  whom  she  would  followe  and  wheele  so  her- 
self, naked  as  she  was,  all  the  fort  over  ;  but  being  once  twelve 
yeares,  they  put  on  a  kind  of  semecinctum  lethern  apron,  as 
doe  our  artificers  or  handycrafts  men." 

Smith  returned  the  same  winter  to  Werowocomoco,  bring- 
ing with  him  one  Captain  Newport,  who  had  just  arrived  from 
England,  and  was  anxious  to  behold  the  emperor.  Powhatan 
exerted  himself  to  entertain  them  sumptuously.  He  received 
them  reclining  upon  his  couch  of  mats,  and  dressed  as  before  in 
the  fur  of  the  raccoon,  his  pillow  of  skins  lying  beside  him, 
brilliantly  embroidered  with  shells  and  beads.  Speeches  and 
feasts,  with  dancing  and  singing,  followed  ;  and  finally,  New- 
port and  Powhatan  made  up  their  minds  to  trade.  Newport 
was  inclined  to  higgle,  but  was  reproved  by  Powhatan.  "Cap- 
tain Newport,"  said  he,  "it  is  not  agreeable  to  my  greatness 
to  truck  in  this  peddling  manner  for  trifles.  I  am  a  great 
sachem,  and  I  esteem  you  the  same.  Therefore  lay  me  down 
all  your  commodities  together  ;  what  I  like  I  will  take,  and 
in  return  you  shall  have  what  I  conceive  to  be  a  fair  value." 
Upon  this  request  being  acceded  to,  Powhatan  coolly  made  an 
adroit  selection,  giving  three  bushels  of  corn  in  exchange.  New- 
port had  calculated  upon  twenty  hogsheads  at  least. 


POCAHONTAS.  217 

Smith,  vexed  at  Newport's  imprudent  operation,  by  which 
he  had  greatly  lowered  the  value  of  many  articles  of  barter, 
saw  that  it  was  indispensable  to  do  away  with  its  ill  eJBfects  by 
a  counter  operation.  He  drew  forth  a  quantity  of  toys  and 
gewgaws,  glancing  them  dexterously  in  the  light.  Powhatan 
eyed  with  admii-ing  gaze  a  string  of  blue  glass  beads.  Smith 
put  the  beads  away.  Powhatan  offered  to  buy  them.  Smith 
said  they  were  not  for  sale.  Powhatan  insisted.  Smith  replied 
that  they  were  of  the  color  of  the  sky,  and  only  to  be  worn 
by  great  sachems.  Powhatan  observed  that  he  was  a  great 
sachem.  He  soon  became  quite  beside  himself  to  possess  the 
beads,  and  finally  purchased  them  for  three  hundred  bushels 
of  corn.  Smith,  not  ashamed  of  having  overreached  the  father 
of  Pocahontas  in  this  unseemly  manner,  subsequently  outwit- 
ted her  uncle,  Opechancanough,  in  precisely  the  same  way.  Blue 
beads  soon  became  imperial  symbols  of  enormous  value,  and 
none  but  sachems  and  members  of  their  famihes  dared  to  be 
seen  wearing  them. 

Powhatan's  fancy  was  next  attracted  by  the  swords  of  the 
colonists,  which  he  had  had  occasion  to  admire  as  more  effi- 
cient than  the  native  hatchets  and  tomahawks.  Remembering 
Newport's  indefinite  notions  of  barter  and  sale,  he  sent  him 
twenty  turkeys,  with  a  request  for  twenty  swords  in  return, 
with  which  that  inconsiderate  gentleman  furnished  him  unhe- 
sitatingly. He  subsequently  attempted  to  wheedle  Smith  in 
the  same  way,  but  the  shrewd  pioneer  kept  the  turkeys  and 
the  swords  both.  Powhatan,  therefore,  ordered  his  people  to 
possess  themselves  of  the  weapons  of  the  English  whenever 
an  opportunity  offered,  either  by  stratagem  or  force.  They 
commenced  their  depredations  and  continued  them  till  surprised 
by  Smith,  and  then  confessed  that  Powhatan  was  endeavoring 
to  obtain  their  arms  that  he  might  afterwards  exterminate 
them.  When  the  sachem  learned  that  his  plot  was  discovered, 
he   sent  the   gentle  Pocahontas   to   Smith,  with  directions   to 

28 


218  POCAHONTAS. 

excuse  him,  and  to  lay  the  entire  bhxme  upon  his  disorderly 
and  ungovernable  warriors.  Smith  released  his  prisoners,  after  a 
sufficient  chastisement,  sending  word  to  Powhatan,  that  if  he 
treated  them  with  unmihtary  clemency,  it  was  wholly  due  to 
the  intercession  of  Pocahontas. 

Smith  was  now  elected  governor  of  Virginia.  Newport, 
who  had  in  the  meantime  sailed  home  to  England,  returned, 
bringing  numerous  costly  presents  for  Powhatan — the  effect  of 
which  would  be,  Smith  feared,  to  cause  the  emperor  to  over- 
rate the  importance  of  his  own  favor.  One  of  the  presents 
was  a  royal  crown,  the  gift  of  King  James  I.,  who  doubtless 
hoped  to  seduce  Powhatan  into  submission  to  his  dominion, 
or  at  least  to  assimilate  the  royal  authority  of  his  sylvan 
ally  to  his  own,  by  the  solemn  ceremony  of  a  coronation. 
Smith  set  out  to  invite  Powhatan  to  Jamestown,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  receiving  the  presents.  On  his  arrival  at  Werowo- 
comoco  he  found  Powhatan  absent.  Pocahontas  sent  for  him 
immediately,  and  in  the  meantime  entertained  her  visitors  with 
an  extraordinary  pageant,  which,  in  the  original  narrative,  is 
called  an  "anticke." 

A  fire  was  made  in  an  open  field,  and  Smith  was  placed  upon 
a  mat  before  it,  with  his  men  about  him.  Hideous  shouts  were 
then  heard  in  the  woods,  and  the  Englishmen,  fearing  a  surprise, 
seized  their  arms.  "Then  presently,"  says  the  chronicle,  "they 
were  presented  with  this  anticke.  Thirtie  young  women  came 
naked  out  of  the  woods,  only  covered  behind  and  before  with  a 
few  greene  leaves  ;  their  bodies  all  paynted,  some  of  one  colour 
and  some  of  another,  but  all  differing.  Their  leader  had  a  fayre 
payre  of  bucke's  horns  on  her  head,  and  an  otter's  skinne  at  her 
girdle,  another  at  her  arme,  a  quiver  of  arrowes  at  her  backe,  a 
bow  and  arrowes  in  her  hand.  The  next  had  in  her  hand  a 
sworde,  another  a  clubbe,  another  a  pot-sticke,  aU  horned  aUke  ; 
the  rest  every  one  with  their  severall  devices.  These  fiends,  with 
most  helUsh  shouts  and  cryes,  rushing  from  among  the  trees, 


POCAHONTAS.  219 

caste  themselves  in  a  ring  about  the  fire,  singing  and  dauncing 
with  the  most  excellent  ill  varietie,  oft  falling  into  their  infernall 
passions,  and  then  again  to  sing  and  daunce.  Having  spent  near 
an  hour  in  this  mascarado,  as  they  entered,  in  like  manner  they 
departed. 

"Having  reaccommodated  themselves,  they  solemnly  invited 
Smith  to  their  lodgings,  when  he  was  no  sooner  within  the  house 
but  all  these  nymphs  more  tormented  him  than  ever,  with  crowd- 
ing, pressing  and  hanging  about  him,  most  tediously  crying, 
'  Love  you  not  me  V  This  salutation  ended,  the  feast  was  set, 
consisting  of  all  the  salvage  dainties  they  could  devise  ;  some 
attending,  othei's  dauncing  about  them.  This  mirth  being  ended, 
with  firebrands  instead  of  torches,  they  conducted  him  to  his 
lodging. 

" Tlius  did  they  show  their  feats  of  annes,  and  others  art  in  dauncing; 
Some  others  ns'd  their  oaten  pipe,  and  others  voyces  chaunting." 

The  next  mention  of  Pocahontas  in  the  Virginia  chronicles  is 
in  the  character  of  the  guardian  angel  of  the  settlers.  Powhatan 
had  resolved  to  fall  upon  the  Enghsh,  and  had  made  such  formid- 
able preparations  as  would  have  secured  him  an  easy  triumph, 
had  not  his  intentions  been  divulged  by  his  daughter.  "For 
Pocahontas,  his  dearest  jewell,  in  that  dark  night  came  through 
the  irksome  woods  and  told  our  Captain  great  cheer  should  be 
sent  us  by  and  by  ;  but  Powhatan  and  all  the  power  he  could 
make,  would  after  come  kill  us  all,  if  they  that  brought  it  could 
not  kill  us  with  our  own  weapons  when  we  were  at  supper. 
Therefore,  if  we  would  live,  she  wished  us  presently  to  be  gone. 
Such  things  as  she  delighted  in  the  Captain  would  have  given 
her  ;  but,  with  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks,  she  said  she 
durst  not  be  seen  to  have  any  ;  for  if  Powhatan  should  know  it, 
she  were  but  dead,  and  so  she  ran  away  by  herself  as  she  came." 
Thus  placed  upon  his  guard  by  his  amiable   and    disinterested 


220  POCAHONTAS. 

preserver,  Smith  baffled  the  artful  design  of  Powhatan,  and  with 
his  men  departed  at  high  water. 

In  the  autumn  of  1609,  an  accident  which  happened  to  Cap- 
tain Smith  forever  severed  his  connection  with  the  Virginia 
colonists.  While  sleeping  in  the  boat  in  which  he  was  returning 
down  the  river  to  Jamestown,  a  bag  of  gunpowder  exploded, 
mangling  and  burning  his  flesh  in  the  most  shocking  manner. 
He  sprang  overboard  to  allay  the  pain  and  extinguish  the  flames, 
and  was  with  difficulty  rescued.  The  wounds  soon  grew  danger- 
ous, and  Smith,  tormented  by  bodily  anguish,  and  weary  of  the 
mental  anxieties  in  which  his  position  involved  him,  departed 
from  Virginia  never  again  to  return.  He  left  behind  him  four 
hundred  and  ninety  colonists,  three  ships,  with  seven  boats  and 
twenty-four  cannon,  an  ample  stock  of  provisions,  tools,  clothing, 
ammunition  and  domestic  animals. 

Notwithstanding  this  abundant  supply  of  the  necessaries  of 
life,  the  colonists  were  by  waste  and  bad  management  soon 
brought  to  want.  Six  months  after  Smith's  departure  the  colony 
was  reduced  to  sixty  persons,  who  subsisted  miserably,  first  upon 
roots,  herbs  and  berries,  and  finally  upon  the  skins  of  horses, 
and  even  upon  starch.  One  starving  wretch  actually  disinterred 
and  devoured  the  body  of  an  Indian  who  had  been  slain  and 
buried.  Another  killed  his  wife,  "powdered  her,"  or,  in  other 
words,  salted  her,  and  thus  for  a  time  prolonged  his  life.  But 
for  this  deed  of  despair  the  murderous  cannibal  was  afterwards 
hanged.  During  this  season  of  horror.  Captain  Ratcliffe  headed 
a  party  of  thirty  men  who  set  out  to  trade  with  Powhatan,  in- 
veigled by  his  specious  arts.  They  were  all  slain  but  one,  a  boy 
named  Heni-y  Spilman,  who  owed  his  life  to  the  intervention  of 
Pocahontas,  and  who  remained  for  many  years  among  the  Poto- 
wamack  Indians,  or  Potomacs. 

The  Indian  princess  would  appear  at  this  period  to  have  for- 
saken her  father,  and  to  have  placed  herself  under  the  protection 
of  Japazaws,  the  chief  of  the  Potomacs.      The  historians  of  the 


POCAHONTAS.  221 

Virginia  colony  attribute  this  abandonment  of  her  home  to 
her  unwillingness  to  remain  a  witness  of  her  father's  constant 
massacres  of  the  English.  It  is  believed,  too,  that  she  had 
incurred  Powhatan's  displeasure  by  her  frequent  interference 
in  behalf  of  the  invaders.  In  the  year  l6l2,  Capt.  Argall,  who 
had  arrived  at  Jamestown  with  two  ships  laden  with  provisions — 
which,  however,  proved  insufficient — went  up  the  Potomac  to 
procure  corn  from  the  natives.  He  formed  an  acquaintance  with 
Japazaws,  who  had  previously  been  a  friend  of  Smith's,  and  was 
still  an  ally  of  the  English.  The  chief  incidentally  mentioned 
to  Argall  that  Pocahontas  was  living  upon  his  territories,  her 
asylum  being  known  to  a  few  trusty  friends  only.  Argall 
immediately  resolved  to  obtain  possession  of  her  person,  as  a 
means  of  forcing  Powhatan  to  a  peace  with  the  colony.  He 
secured  the  cooperation  of  Japazaws  by  promising  him  in  recom- 
pense a  bright  copper  kettle — a  bribe  which  had  always  proved 
irresistible  to  the  Indians — the  sachem,  however,  exacting  a 
pledge  that  Pocahontas  should  not  be  harmed  while  in  English 
custody.  Japazaws  in  turn  induced  his  wife  to  join  in  the  scheme, 
which  was  executed  in  the  following  adroit  and  characteristic 
manner  : 

Japazaws''  wife,  acting  under  instructions,  affected  an  ex- 
treme curiosity  respecting  Argall's  ships,  and  expressed  a  desire 
to  go  on  board.  Japazaws,  however,  had  often  visited  the  vessels 
of  the  colonists,  and  did  not  care  to  go  again  ;  he  would  not  take 
his  wife,  nor  allow  her  to  go  alone.  She  became  importunate 
and  he  became  impatient ;  finally  her  persistence  grew  so 
intolerable,  that  he  positively  beat  her.  Upon  this,  we  are  told, 
"  she  actually  accomplished  a  few  tears  !"  All  this  occurred 
in  the  presence  of  Pocahontas,  and  such  scenes  were  frequently 
enacted  for  her  benefit.  At  last  Japazaws  appeared  to  yield 
to  the  evident  afiiiction  of  his  wife,  and  said  that  however 
irksome  a  visit  to  the  vessel  might  be  to  himself — familiar  as  he 
was  with  the  English  marine — he  was  nevertheless  willing  to 


222  POCAHONTAS. 

gratify  her  innocent  curiosity,  and  if  her  friend  Pocahontas  would 
consent  to  accompany  her,  he  would  be  happy  to  escort  them 
both. 

The  amiable  princess,  who  was  far  from  suspecting  treachery, 
and  who  was  unable  to  endure  the  apparent  distress  of  her 
friend,  readily  consented.  They  were  cordially  welcomed  on 
board  the  vessel,  and  hospitably  entertained  in  the  cabin.  Japa- 
zaws  trod  stealthily  upon  Argall's  foot,  to  intimate  that  his  part 
of  the  bargain  was  accomplished.  The  guests  were  then  paraded 
about  the  ship,  Japazaws  taking  every  opportunity  to  repeat  his 
indecorous  summons  to  the  captain  for  the  delivery  of  the  kettle. 
At  last  he  received  "the  brilliant  wages  of  his  sin."  Argall 
decoyed  Pocahontas  to  the  gun-room,  and  there  told  her  that  she 
was  a  prisoner,  and  must  remain  with  him  as  a  hostage  till  a 
peace  could  be  arranged  between  himself  and  her  father.  She 
wept  bitterly  at  first,  but  was  doubtless  consoled  in  her  grief 
by  the  intolerable  affliction  manifested  by  the  two  Japazaws. 
They  absolutely  howled  when  they  learned  that  the  innocent 
maiden  whom  they  had  induced  to  confide  in  their  protection, 
was  to  be  thus  treacherously  treated.  They  ceased  their  lamen- 
tations upon  a  signal  from  Argall,  that  they  were  altogether 
overdoing  the  matter;  and,  with  their  kettle  filled  to  the  brim 
with  toys   and    glass  jewelry,  trudged   merrily  home   to  their 

;wam. 

Pocahontas  dried  her  eyes  upon  the  reflection  that  the 
English,  to  whom  she  had  rendered  such  signal  services,  could 
not  treat  her  with  inhumanity.  The  vessel  sailed  down  the  river 
to  Jamestown,  which  the  princess  had  not  seen  since  Smith's 
departure.  On  their  arrival  a  message  was  dispatched  to  Pow- 
hatan, to  the  effect  "  that  his  daughter  Pocahontas  he  loved  so 
dearly,  he  must  ransom  with  the  English  men,  swords,  pieces, 
tooles,  hee  treacherously  had  stolen."  Though  the  venerable 
sachem  is  said  to  have  been  much  troubled  at  his  daughter's 
captivity,  he  was  still  so  deeply  offended  at  the  undiplomatic 


POCAHONTAS.  223 

language  in  which  the  demand  was  couched,  that  he  sent  no 
answer  for  the  space  of  three  months.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
he  hberated  seven  Englishmen,  with  as  many  rusty,  disabled  fire- 
locks, one  axe,  one  saw,  and  one  canoe  laden  with  corn.  He 
further  offered  to  make  peace  and  give  a  bonus  of  five  hundred 
baskets  of  corn,  if  his  daughter  were  restored.  He  could  return 
no  more  muskets,  however,  as  they  were  all  mislaid  ;  and  he 
could  not  compel  the  whites  who  remained  with  him  to  return, 
free  volunteers  as  they  were  in  his  service.  The  colonists  were 
not  deceived  by  this  transparent  ruse,  and  sent  back  word  that 
they  would  release  Pocahontas  when  all  the  arms  and  captives 
were  restored,  and  not  before.  The  stern  warrior  gave  himself 
no  further  uneasiness  about  his  daughter,  tranquilly  abandoning 
her  to  her  fate,  and  retaining  his  prisoners  and  the  muskets. 
Thus  nearly  a  year  passed  away.  The  time  need  not  be  sup- 
posed to  have  hung  heavily  upon  the  captive  princess'  hands,  for 
subsequent  developments  show  her  to  have  been  engaged  in  the 
"very  pleasant  and  diverting  pastime  of  love-making  with  a 
worthy  young  Englishman,  John  Rolfe  by  name." 

In  the  spring  of  1613,  a  party  of  one  hundred  and  sixty 
colonists,  well  armed,  and  commanded  by  Sir  Thomas  Dale,  the 
President  of  .the  colony,  sailed  up  the  river  Werowocomoco, 
taking  Pocahontas  with  them.  Young  Mr.  Rolfe  also  accom- 
panied the  expedition.  The  Powhatans  received  them  with 
scorn  and  defiance,  threatening  them  with  the  fate  of  Captain 
RatcUffe.  The  English  landed  and  burned  and  destroyed  their 
wigwams.  A  truce  was  agreed  upon,  during  which  two  of 
the  brothers  of  Pocahontas  visited  her  on  board  the  ship. 
They  found  her  well,  and,  moreover,  contented  and  happy. 
They  promised  to  do  everything  in  their  power  to  effect  her 
release,  which,  however,  she  did  not  seem  particularly  to  desire. 
Mr.  Rolfe  and  Mr.  Sparkes  were  soon  after  sent  upon  an  em- 
bassy to  Powhatan,  who  refused  to  see  them,  turning  them 
over  to  his  brother,  Opechancauough.     The  whole  party  now 


224  POCAHONTAS. 

returned  to  Jamestown,  without  having  ransomed  a  man  or 
redeemed  a  musket. 

Mr.  Rolfe  now  informed  Sir  Thomas  Dale  of  his  attach- 
ment to  Pocahontas,  and  requested  his  consent  to  their  mar- 
riage. It  was  cheerfully  given,  as  such  a  connection  could 
not  fail  to  prove  an  auspicious  event  in  the  annals  of  the 
colony.  Pocahontas  communicated  her  intentions  to  one  of 
her  brothers,  who  promised  to  convey  the  intelligence  to  Pow- 
hatan. The  old  chief  was  highly  pleased  with  the  idea,  and 
within  ten  days  forwarded  his  consent  and  his  blessing  to  his 
daughter.  Unable  to  attend  the  ceremony  himself,  he  commis- 
sioned his  brother  Opachisco  and  two  of  his  sons,  "  to  wit- 
ness the  manner  of  the  marriage,  and  to  do  in  that  behalf 
what  they  were  requested  for  the  confirmation  thereof  as  his 
deputies."  Pocahontas  had  already  become  a  convert  to  the 
Chi'istian  religion,  and  by  the  mysterious  rite  of  baptism,  had 
exchanged  her  Indian  appellation  for  the  biblical  name  of  Re- 
becca. She  was  often  called  "the  first  fruit  of  the  Gospel  in 
America,"  and  Sir  Thomas  Dale  once  wrote  of  her,  "  were  it 
but  the  gaining  of  this  one  soule,  I  will  think  my  time,  toil, 
and  present  stay,  well  spent." 

The  following  account  of  the  nuptial  ceremonies  we  ex- 
tract from  Lossing's  "  Marriage  of  Pocahontas  :"  "  It  was  a  day 
in  charming  April,  in  1613,  when  Rolfe  and  Pocahontas  stood 
at  the  marriage  altar  in  the  new  and  pretty  chapel  at  James- 
town. The  sun  had  marched  half  way  up  toward  the  meridian, 
when  a  goodly  company  had  assembled  beneath  the  temple 
roof.  The  pleasant  odor  of  the  "pews  of  cedar"  commingled 
with  the  fragrance  of  the  wild  flowers  which  decked  the  fes- 
toons of  evergreens  and  sprays  that  hung  over  the  '  fair, 
broad  windows,'  and  the  commandment  tablets  above  the  chan- 
cel. Over  the  pulpit  of  black-walnut  hung  garlands  of  white 
flowers,  with  (he  waxen  leaves  and  scarlet  berries  of  the  holly. 
The  comnmuion  table  was  covered  with  fair  white  linen,  and 


POCAHONTAS.  225 

bore  bread  ft-om  the  wheat  fields  of  Jamestown,  and  wine 
from  its  luscious  grapes.  The  font,  '  hewn  hollow  between, 
like  a  canoe,'  sparkled  with  water,  as  on  the  morning  when 
the  gentle  princess  uttered  her  baptismal  vows. 

"Of  all  that  company  assembled  in  the  broad  space  be- 
tween the  chancel  and  the  pews,  the  bride  and  groom  were 
the  central  figures  in  fact  and  significance.  Pocahontas  was 
dressed  in  a  simple  tunic  of  white  muslin,  from  the  looms 
of  Dacca.  Her  arms  were  bare  even  to  the  shoulders  ;  and, 
hanging  loosely  towards  her  feet,  was  a  robe  of  rich  stuff, 
presented  by  Sir  Thomas  Dale,  and  fancifully  embroidered  by 
herself  and  her  maidens.  A  gaudy  fillet  encircled  her  head,  and 
held  the  plumage  of  birds  and  a  veil  of  gauze,  while  her 
limbs  were  adorned  with  the  simple  jewelry  of  the  native  work- 
shops. Rolfe  was  attired  in  the  gay  clothing  of  an  English 
cavalier  of  that  period,  and  upon  his  thigh  he  wore  the  short 
sword  of  a  gentleman  of  distinction  in  society.  He  was  the 
personification  of  manly  beauty  in  form  and  carriage  ;  she  of 
womanly  modesty  and  lovely  simplicity  ;  and  as  they  came  and 
stood  before  the  man  of  God,  history  dipped  her  pen  in  the 
indestructible  fountain  of  truth,  and  recorded  a  prophecy  of 
mighty  empires  in  the  New  World.  Upon  the  chancel  steps, 
where  no  railing  interfered,  the  good  Whitaker  stood  in  his 
sacerdotal  robes,  and,  with  impressive  voice,  pronounced  the 
marriage  ritual  of  the  liturgy  of  the  Anglican  Church,  then  first 
planted  on  the  Western  Continent.  On  his  right,  in  a  luchly 
carved  chair  of  state,  brought  from  England,  sat  the  Governor, 
with  his  ever-attendant  halberdiers,  with  brazen  helmets,  at 
his  back. 

"  All  then  at  Jamestovra  were  at  the  marriage.  The  let- 
ters of  the  time  have  transmitted  to  us  the  names  of  some  of 
them.  Mistress  John  Rolfe,  with  her  child — doubtless  of  the 
family  of  the  bridegroom — Mistress  Easton  and  child,  and  Mis- 
tress Horton  and  grandchild,  with  her  maid  servant,  Elizabeth 


226  POCAHONTAS. 

Parsons,  who,  oil  a  Christmas  Eve  before,  had  married  Thomas 
Powell,  were  yet  in  Virginia.  Among  the  noted  men  then 
present  was  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  a  brave  soldier  in  many  wars, 
and  as  brave  an  adventurer  among  the  Atlantic  perils  as 
any  who  ever  trusted  to  the  ribs  of  oak  of  the  ships  of  Old 
England.  And  Master  Spai-kes,  who  had  been  co-ambassador 
with  Rolfe  to  the  court  of  Powhatan,  stood  near  the  old  sol- 
dier, with  young  Henry  Spilman  at  his  side.  There,  too,  was  the 
young  George  Percy,  brother  of  the  powerful  Duke  of  North- 
umberland, whose  conduct  was  always  as  noble  as  his  blood  ; 
and  near  him,  an  earnest  spectator  of  the  scene,  was  the  elder 
brother  of  Pocahontas,  but  not  the  destined  successor  to  the 
throne  of  his  father.  There,  too,  was  a  younger  brother  of  the 
bride,  and  many  youths  and  maidens  from  the  forest  shades ; 
but  one  noble  figure — the  pride  of  the  Powhatan  confederacy 
— the  father  of  the  bride,  was  absent.  He  had  consented  to 
the  marriage  with  willing  voice,  but  would  not  trust  himself 
within  the  power  of  the  English,  at  Jamestown.  He  remained 
in  his  habitation  at  Werowocomoco,  while  the  Rose  and  the 
ToTUM  were  being  wedded,  but  cheerfully  commissioned  his 
brother,  Opachisco,  to  give  away  his  daughter.  That  prince 
performed  his  duty  well,  and  then,  in  careless  gravity,  he  sat 
and  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  Apostle,  and  the  sweet  chant- 
ing of  the  little  choristers.  The  music  ceased,  the  benediction 
fell,  the  solemn  "Amen"  echoed  from  the  rude  vaulted  roof, 
and  the  joyous  company  left  the  chapel  for  the  festive  hall 
of  the  governor.  Thus  "the  peace"  was  made  stronger,  and 
the  Rose  of  England  lay  undisturbed  upon  the  Hatchet  of 
the  Powhatans,  while  the  father  of  Pocahontas  lived." 

Pocahontas  dwelt  at  Jamestown  with  her  husband,  readily 
conforming  to  English  usages,  and  acquiring  the  language  with 
fiicility.  She  never  expressed,  and  doubtless  never  felt,  a  re- 
gret at  having  abandoned  her  people.  Indeed  the  union  was  in 
every  point  of  view  so  auspicious,  that  Sir  Thomas  Dale  sent  a 


POCAHONTAS.  227 

proposal  to  Powhatan  for  the  hand  of  another  of  his  daughters, 
urging  the  expediency  of  further  uniting  the  two  races,  and 
adding  that  Pocahontas  would  be  delighted  to  see  her  sister 
at  Jamestown.  Powhatan  replied  that  he  desired  no  other 
assurance  of  the  president's  friendship  than  his  word,  which  was 
already  pledged  ;  that  he  thought  he  had  himself  given  an  equal 
assurance  in  the  person  of  Pocahontas  ;  that  one  daughter  was, 
in  his  opinion,  sufficient  at  one  time  ;  when  she  died,  he  would 
substitute  another  in  her  stead.  But  there  was  another  reason 
why  he  must  decline  the  offer  of  Sir  Thomas  ;  he  had  sold  his 
daughter,  hardly  a  week  before,  to  a  great  werowance  living  in 
the  neighborhood,  for  the  price  of  three  bushels  of  roanoke. 

Three  years  after  her  marriage,  Pocahontas,  with  her  infant 
son,  Thomas  Rolfe,  accompanied  her  husband  and  Sir  Thomas 
Dale  to  England,  where  they  arrived  on  the  16th  of  June,  1616. 
King  James  was  offended  with  Rolfe  for  his  presumption  in 
marrying  the  daughter  of  a  king — a  piece  of  affectation  for  which 
his  majesty  has  been  styled  by  a  Virginia  historian,  "an  anointed 
pedant."  Captain  Smith,  whose  health  had  been  restored,  was 
at  this  time  in  London,  preparing  for  a  voyage  to  New  England ; 
he,  however,  delayed  his  departure  for  the  purpose  of  employing 
his  influence  to  Pocahontas'  advantage.  He  drew  up  a  memorial 
to  "the  most  high  and  virtuous  princess,  Queen  Anne,"  from 
which,  as  from  an  authentic  and  contemjioraneous  document 
of  great  interest,  we  make  the  following  extracts  : 

"  Some  ten  years  ago,  being  in  Virginia,  and  taken  prisoner 
by  the  power  of  Powhatan,  their  chief  king,  I  received  from  this 
great  salvage  exceeding  great  courtesy,  especially  from  his  son, 
Nantaquaus,  the  most  manliest,  comeliest,  boldest  spirit  I  ever 
saw  in  a  salvage,  and  his  sister,  Pocahontas,  the  king's  most  dear 
and  well  beloved  daughter,  being  but  a  child  of  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  of  age,  whose  compassionate,  pitiful  heart  of  my  desperate 
estate,  gave  me  much  cause  to  respect  her.  After  some  weeks 
fatting  amongst  these  salvage  courtiers,  at  the   minute  of  my 


228  POCAHONTAS. 

execution,  she  hazarded  the  beating  out  of  her  own  brains  to 
save  mine,  and  not  only  that,  but  so  prevailed  with  her  father 
that  I  was  safely  conducted  to  James  Town. 

"  Such  was  the  weakness  of  this  poor  commonwealth,  as,  had 
the  salvages  not  fed  us,  we  directly  had  starved.  And  this 
relief,  most  gi-acious  queen,  was  commonly  brought  us  by  this 
Lady  Pocahontas  ;  notwithstanding  all  those  passages  when 
inconstant  Fortune  turned  our  peace  to  war,  this  tender  virgin 
still  would  not  spare  to  come  to  visit  us,  and  by  her  our  jars 
have  been  oft  appeased,  and  our  wants  still  supplied.  Were  it 
the  policy  of  her  father  thus  to  employ  her,  or  the  ordinance  of 
God  thus  to  make  her  his  instrument,  or  her  extraordinary  affec- 
tion to  our  nation,  I  know  not ;  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  when  her 
father,  with  the  utmost  of  his  policy  and  power,  sought  to  sur- 
prise me,  having  but  eighteen  with  me,  the  dark  night  could  not 
affright  her  from  coming  through  the  irksome  woods,  and  with 
watered  eyes,  give  me  intelligence,  with  her  best  advice,  to 
escape  his  fury ;  which,  had  he  known,  he  had  surely  slain  her. 
James  Town,  with  her  wild  train,  she  as  freely  frequented  as  her 
father's  habitation  ;  and  during  the  time  of  two  or  three  years, 
she  next,  under  God,  was  still  the  instrument  to  preserve  this 
colony  from  death,  famine  and  utter  confusion,  which,  if  these 
times  had  once  been  dissolved,  Virginia  might  have  lain  as  it  was 
on  our  arrival  to  this  day. 

"  Since  then,  this  business  having  been  turned  and  carried  by 
many  accidents  from  that  I  left  it  at,  it  is  most  certain  after  a 
long  and  troublesome  war,  after  my  departure,  betwixt  her 
father  and  our  colony,  all  which  time  she  was  not  heard  of,  about 
(wo  years  after  she  herself  was  taken  prisoner,  being  so  detained 
near  two  years  longer  ;  the  colony  was  by  that  means  relieved, 
peace  concluded,  and  at  last,  rejecting  her  barbarous  condition, 
was  married  to  an  English  gentleman,  with  whom  at  this  present 
she  is  in  England  ;  the  first  Christian  ever  of  that  nation,  the 
first  Virginian  ever  spoke  English,  or  had  a  child  in  marriage  by 


POCAHONTAS.  229 

an  Englishman,  a  matter  surely,  if  my  meaning  be  truly  con- 
sidered and  well  understood,  worthy  a  Princess'  understanding." 
Thus  recommended,  Pocahontas  gained  the  friendship  and 
esteem  of  the  king  and  queen,  and  her  acquaintance  was  eagerly 
sought  by  persons  of  the  highest  rank,  many  of  whom  declared 
"  they  had  seen  English  ladies  worse  favoured,  proportioned  and 
behavioured."  She  was  known  as  the  Lady  Rebecca.  Her  por- 
trait was  taken  at  this  period,  and  represented  her  in  the  fashion- 
able English  costume  of  the  day.  The  following  inscription  was 
appended  to  it :  Matoaka,  als  Rebecca,  Filia  Potentiss  :  Princ  : 
PowHATANi  Imp  :  Virginia.  Matoaka,  als  Rebecca,  Daughter 
TO  THE  Mighty  Prince  Powhatan,  Emperour  of  Attanough- 

KOMOUCK,  ALS  VIRGINIA,  CONVERTED  AND  BAPTIZED  IN  THE  CHRIS- 
TIAN Faith,  and  Wife  to  the  Worshipful  Mr.  John  Rolfe. 
.^TATIS  su^  21  A.D.  1616. 

Before  his  departure,  Smith  visited  her  at  Brentford,  whither 
she  had  retired  with  her  husband,  to  escape  the  smoke  and  din 
of  the  city.  She  had  been  told,  though  with  what  design  we  are 
not  informed,  that  he  was  long  since  dead,  and  when  he  was 
suddenly  introduced  into  her  presence,  she  was  so  overwhelmed 
with  joy  at  his  restoration,  and  with  resentment  at  the  imposi- 
tion, that  she  turned  away  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
She  remained  silent  for  three  hours,  being  left  to  herself  to 
recover  her  equanimity.  Smith  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  this 
result  of  her  emotion,  "repenting  himself  to  have  wi'it  that  she 
could  speak  English."  She  finally  yielded  to  entreaty  and  con- 
versed freely  with  Smith  and  other  guests.  She  thus  addressed 
the  captain  :  "You  promised  my  father  that  whatever  was  yours 
should  be  his,  and  that  you  and  he  would  be  all  one.  Being  a 
stranger  in  our  country,  you  called  Powhatan  father  ;  and  I  for 
the  same  reason  will  now  call  you  so."  But  Smith  represented  to 
her  how  jealous  the  king  and  court  were  of  any  undue  assump- 
tion of  royal  or  noble  state  in  those  who  were  of  plebeian  descent, 
and  m-ged,  in  combating  her  proposition,  that  if  his  majesty  had 


230  POCAHONTAS. 

been  offended  with  her  husband  for  having  married  one  of  royal 
birth,  how  much  more  so  would  ho  be  likely  to  be  if  a  lady  of 
royal  birth  were  to  bestow  the  title  of  father  upon  an  adventurer 
like  himself.  But  Pocahontas  could  not  understand  his  reasoning, 
and  continued  in  a  loftier  tone  :  "  You  were  not  afraid  to  come 
into  my  father's  couuti-y,  and  cause  fear  in  him  and  all  his  people 
but  me,  and  are  you  here  afraid  to  let  me  call  you  father  ?  I  tell 
you  then  I  will  call  you  father  and  you  shall  call  me  child  ; 
and  so  I  will  forever  be  of  your  kindred  and  country." 

History  has  preserved  no  further  details  of  the  career  of  the 
"Numpareil  of  Virginia,"  as  Smith  was  wont  to  call  her,  until  we 
arrive  at  the  period  of  her  death,  early  in  the  year  1617.  This 
neglect  and  indifference  are  quite  inexplicable,  especially  on  the 
part  of  an  author  like  Hume,  who  never  once  mentions  her  name. 
Pocahontas  and  her  husband  were  at  Gravesend,  preparing  to 
return  to  Virginia,  the  treasurer  and  council  of  the  colony  having 
provided  them  proper  accommodations  on  board  the  ship  George, 
commanded  by  Captain  Argall.  That  Mr.  Rolfe's  position  might 
be  in  some  degree  assimilated  to  the  rank  and  quahty  of  his 
wife,  he  was  made  secretary  and  recorder-general  of  Virginia. 
But  before  embarking,  Pocahontas  fell  sick,  and  after  a  brief 
illness  died,  in  her  twenty-second  year.  Her  death,  we  are  told, 
was  a  happy  mixture  of  Indian  fortitude  and  Christian  submis- 
sion ;  she  affected  all  those  who  saw  her  by  the  lively  and 
edifying  display  of  piety  and  virtue  which  marked  the  closing 
moments  of  her  life. 

Late  researches  have  disclosed  the  place  of  Pocahontas' 
burial.  The  original  entry  in  the  register  of  the  parish  of 
Gravesend,  inaccurate,  however,  in  two  particulars,  was  dis- 
covered but  a  few  years  ago  by  the  rector.  It  runs  thus : 
"1010:  March  21.  Rebecca  Rolfe,  wyffe  of  Thomas  Rolfe,  gent, 
a  Virginia  lady  borne,  was  buried  in  yc  chauncell."  But  as  the 
present  church  at  Gravesend  was  erected  subsequent  to  the  year 
1616,  the  grave  of  Pocahontas  can  no  longer  be  pointed  out, 


POCAHONTAS.  231 

though  the  position  of  the  chancel  of  the  former  edifice  may  be 
indicated  with  a  sufficient  degree  of  accuracy  to  reward  the  pil- 
grim whom  a  pious  regard  I'or  her  memory  may  attract  to  her 
resting-place  in  Kent. 

The  character  of  Pocahontas  is  one  upon  which  the  historian 
and  biographer  may  weU  delight  to  dwell.  In  all  those  qualities 
which  mankind  have  agreed  to  regard  as  the  peculiar  and  most 
winning  atti-ibutes  of  woman — humanity,  tenderness,  modesty, 
sensibility,  constancy,  disinterestedness — she  may  safely  be  af- 
firmed to  be  without  a  rival.  But  not  alone  in  the  essential 
virtues  of  her  sex  was  she  worthy  of  admiration  ;  her  foresight, 
when  the  interests  of  her  friends  required  it,  and  her  intrepidity, 
when  danger  threatened  them,  give  a  strong  relief  to  the  other- 
wise too  mellow  coloring  of  the  picture.  Had  Pocahontas  been 
carefully  nurtured  under  a  mother's  jealous  eye,  surrounded  by 
the  appliances  of  civilization  and  the  influences  of  Christianity, 
her  character  would  still  have  been  one  of  the  loveliest  in 
history  ;  but,  when  it  is  remembered  that  she  was  the  untutored 
offspring-  of  a  barbarian  monarch,  that  her  virtues  were  intuitive, 
not  called  forth  by  culture,  and  that  she  was  trained  and  bred 
amid  lawlessness  and  violence,  we  are  compelled  to  regard  her 
as  an  exceptional  being,  created  for  a  special  purpose,  and 
furnished  with  the  moral  superiority  requisite  to  enable  her  to 
effect  it.  She  was  an  essential  link  in  the  chain  of  circumstances 
which  was  to  lead  to  the  colonization  of  Virginia  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  white  race  in  America.  Had  not  Pocahontas 
preserved  the  life  of  Smith,  and,  with  his  life,  saved  the  James- 
town settlement  from  ruin,  in  1607,  we  may  be  very  sure  that 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers  would  not  have  embarked  in  the  Mayflower 
in  1620. 

"Pocahontas,"  to  employ  once  more  the  language  of  Mr. 
HiUard,  "  has  been  a  powerful,  though  silent  advocate  of  the 
race  to  which  she  belonged.  Her  deeds  have  covered  a  mul- 
titude of  their  sins.      When  disgusted  with  numei'ous    recitals 


232  POCAHONTAS. 

of  their  cruelty  and  treachery,  and  about  to  pass  an  unfavor- 
able judgment  in  our  minds  upon  the  Indian  character,  at 
the  thought  of  Pocahontas  our  rigor  relents.  With  a  softened 
heart,  we  are  ready  to  admit  that  there  must  have  been  fine 
elements  in  a  people  from  among  whom  such  a  being  could 
spring."  We  may  add,  that  the  union  of  so  many  quahties 
honorable  to  the  female  sex  and  to  the  human  race,  should 
never  be  forgotten  when  forming  an  estimate  of  the  character 
of  the  American  aborigines. 

The  infant  son  of  Pocahontas,  Thomas  Rolfe,  bereft  of  a 
mother's  care,  was  left  at  Plymouth,  his  father  judging  it  in- 
expedient to  remove  him  to  Vii-ginia.  His  early  education 
was  directed  by  Sir  Lewis  Stukely,  but  as  that  gentleman  was 
soon  after  beggared  and  disgraced  by  the  treacherous  part  he 
took  in  the  proceedings  against  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  young 
Rolfe  was  transferred  to  the  care  of  his  uncle,  Henry  Rolfe, 
of  London.  He  afterwards  settled  in  Virginia,  where  he  had 
inherited  a  large  tract  of  land  which  had  belonged  to  Pow- 
hatan, and  where  he  attained  to  fortune  and  eminence.  His 
descendants,  at  the  present  day,  are  numerous,  wealthy,  and 
influential.  The  extreme  intricacy  of  the  various  branches  and 
connections  of  the  family,  renders  it  impossible  to  present  a  com- 
plete genealogical  table.  We  may  give,  however,  the  following 
brief  and  distinct  steps  by  which  one  of  the  remarkable  men  of 
America  was  wont  to  trace  back  his  descent,  through  six  gene- 
rations, to  the  peerless  daughter  of  Powhatan  : 


1.    I  POCAHONTAS,  JOHN  ROLFE. 


2. 


TnoMAs   Rolfe,    tlioir   only   son, 
married  in  Virginia. 


POCAHONTAS. 


233 


Jane   Rolfe,  liis  only   daughter, 
married  to  Kobert  Boiling. 


John    BoLLrNo,    their    only    son, 
married  in  Virginia. 


Jane  Bolling,  one  of  six  children, 
married  to  Colonel  Richard  Ran- 
dolph, son  of  Col.  Wm.  Randolpli, 
of  Yorkshire. 


g_  I  John  Randolph,  their  son,  mar- 
I  ried  Frances  Bland. 


7. 


JOHN  RANDOLPH  of  Roanoke, 
one  of  four  sons. 


Jane  Boiling  is  thus  spoken  of  by  Hugh  Garland  in  his 
biography  of  John  Randolph,  her  grandson  :  "  The  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Randolph — Jane  Boiling — is  still  extant.  A  more  marked 
and  commanding  countenance  is  rarely  to  be  met  with.  If 
the  portrait  be  true  to  nature,  none  of  the  Indian  complexion 
can  be  traced  in  her  countenance.  Her  erect  and  firm  position, 
and  square,  broad  shoulders,  are  the  only  indications  of  Indian 
descent.  The  face  is  decidedly  handsome,  while  the  lofty,  ex- 
panded, and  well-marked  forehead,  the  great  breadth  between 
the  eyes,  the  firm,  distended  nostril,  compressed  lip  and  steady 
eye,  display  an  intellect,  a  firmness,  and  moral  qualities  truly 
heroic  and  commanding.  Worthy  descendant  of  the  daughter 
of  Powhatan !" 

One  of  the  historians  of  Virginia,  Mr.  John  Burk,  thus  writes 
of  the  descendants  of  Pocahontas  in  1804:  "The  virtues  of  mild- 
ness and  humanity,  so  eminently  distinguished  in  Pocahontas, 
remain  in  the  nature  of  an  inheritance  to  her  posterity.     None 

30 


234  POCAHONTAS. 

of  them  have  been  conspicuous  in  arts  or  arms ;  no  great  states- 
man or  consummate  general  has  issued  from  the  loins  of  Pow- 
hatan since  his  imperial  blood  has  mingled  with  the  whites.  But 
then,  there  is  scarcely  a  single  scion  from  the  stock  which  has 
not  been  in  the  highest  degree  amiable  and  respectable,  and  for 
the  want  of  the  more  imposing  and  showy  qualifications,  we  must 
principally  look  to  the  affluent  circumstances  of  the  family,  which 
generally  take  away  the  motive  to  exertion  and  enterprise.  The 
author  of  this  history  is  acquainted  with  several  members  of  this 
family,  who  are  intelligent,  and  even  eloquent,  and  who,  if 
fortune  do  but  keep  pace  with  their  merits,  should  not  despair 
of  attaining  a  conspicuous  and  even  exalted  station  in  the  com- 
monwealth." 

The  same  language  might  be  applied  with  equal  propriety  to 
the  posterity  of  the  Lady  Rebecca  at  the  present  day.  Her 
descendants  continue  eminently  distinguished  for  the  qualities 
which  adorn  social  life,  and  remain  faithful  to  the  maxim  which 
they  seem  to  have  adopted,  that  the  post  of  honor  is  a  private 
station.  There  are  probably  few  pedigrees  in  the  country  which 
give  such  unfeigned  gratification  to  those  whose  lineage  they 
record,  as  that  which  connects  the  family  of  which  we  have 
spoken  with  the  King  of  the  Powhatans  and  the  Nonpareil  of 
Virginia. 


■.«;"?(„ 


J^ELL    G¥YI¥ 


It  has  been  the  custom  with  the  biographers  of  Fell  Gwynn 
to  introduce  their  narrative  with  an  apology  and  an  explanation. 
Mrs.  Jameson,  though  well  aware  that  the  portrait  and  accom- 
panying sketch  of  Felly  would  be  the  most  agreeable  feature  of 
her  "Beauties  of  the  Court  of  Charles  II.,"  thought  proper  to 
offer  three  pages  of  excuses  for  her  temerity ;  and  Mr.  Peter 
Cunningham,  who,  six  years  ago,  was  the  first  to  do  the  poor 
orange  girl  justice,  took  a  similar  precaution  before  presenting 
his  manuscript  to  Sylvanus  Urban,  gent.  We  shelter  ourselves 
behind  these  authorities,  and,  in  the  following  quotations,  make 
their  apologies  our  own.     Thus  writes  Mrs.  Jameson : 

"It  is,  at  least  in  one  sense,  rather  a  delicate  point  to  touch 
on  the  life  of  Nell  Gwynn  ;  we  would  fixin  be  properly  shocked, 
decorously  grave,  and  becomingly  moral ;  but  as  the  lady  says 
in  Comus,  'to  what  end?'  It  were  rather  superfluous  to  set 
about  proving  that  Fell  was,  in  her  day,  a  good-for-nothing 
sort  of  person  ;  in  short,  as  wild  a  piece  of  frailty  as  ever  wore 
a  petticoat.  In  spite  of  such  demonstrations,  and  of  Bishop 
Burnet's  objurgations  to  boot,  she  will  not  the  less  continue  to 
be  the  idol  of  popular  tradition,  her  very  name  provocative  of 
a  smile,  and  of  power  to  disarm  the   austerity  of  virtue   and 


235 


236  NELL     GWYNN. 

discountenance  the  gravity  of  wisdom.  It  is  worth  while  to  in- 
quire in  what  consists  that  strange  fascination,  which,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  century  and  a  half,  still  hangs  round  the  memory  of 
this  singular  woman.  Why  is  her  name  still  familiar  and  dear  in 
the  mouths  of  the  peoj)le  ?  Why  hath  no  man  condemned  her  ? 
Why  has  satire  spared  her  ?  Why  is  there  in  her  rememhrance 
a  charm  so  far  beyond  and  so  different  from  mere  celebrity  ?  .  .  . 

"A  woman,  when  she  has  once  stepped  astray,  seldom  pauses 
in  her  downward  career,  '  till  guilt  grows  fate  that  was  but  choice 
before,'  and  far  more  seldom  rises  out  of  that  debasement  of 
person  and  mind,  except  by  some  violent  transition  of  feeling, 
some  revulsion  of  passion  leading  to  the  other  extreme.  In  the 
case  of  Nell  Gwynn,  the  contrary  was  remarkable.  As  years 
passed  on,  as  habit  grew,  and  temptation  and  opportunities  in- 
creased, her  conduct  became  more  circumspect,  and  her  character 
more  elevated.  The  course  of  her  life,  which  had  begun  in  the 
puddle  and  sink  of  obscurity  and  profligacy,  as  it  flowed,  refined. 
For  the  humorous  and  scandalous  stories  of  which  she  is  the 
subject,  some  excuse  may  be  found  in  her  i^lebeian  education 
and  the  coarseness  of  the  age  in  which  she  lived  ;  when  ladies 
of  quality  gambled  and  swore,  what  could  be  expected  from  the 
orange  girl  ?  But  though  her  language  and  manners  bore  to  the 
last  the  taint  of  the  tavern  and  the  stage,  hers  was  one  of  those 
fine  natures  which  could  not  be  corrupted  ;  the  contaminating 
influence  of  the  atmosphere  around  her  had  stained  the  surface, 
but  -never  reached  the  core." 

Mr.  Cunningham's  biography,  as  contributed  to  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  thus  opens:  "A  pious  and  learned  divine, 
afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  preached  the  funeral  ser- 
mon of  Nell  Gwynn  ;  and  the  house  on  the  Park  side  of  Pall 
Mall  in  which  she  is  known  to  have  lived,  though  altered  in  its 
outward  appearance  since  her  time,  now  shelters  the  Society  for 
the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts.  What  so  good 
a  man  as  Archbishop  Tenison  did  not  think  an  unfit  subject  for 


NELLGWYNN.  237 

a  sermon,  will  not  be  thought,  I  trust,  an  unfit  subject  tor  a 
series  of  papers  ;  for  the  life  that  was  spent  remissly  may  yet 
convey  a  moral.  .  .  .  The  English  people  have  always  enter- 
tained a  peculiar  liking  for  Nell  Gwynn.  There  is  a  fascination 
about  her  name  that  belongs  to  no  other  woman  of  her  particular 
class  and  condition.  Thousands  are  attracted  by  it,  they  know 
not  why,  and  do  not  stop  to  inquire.  It  is  the  jjopular  impres- 
sion that,  with  all  her  failings,  she  was  a  woman  with  a  generous, 
open  English  heart ;  that  when  raised  from  poverty  and  the 
lowest  origin  to  affluence,  she  reserved  her  wealth  for  others 
rather  than  herself ;  and  that  the  influence  which  she  possessed 
was  often  well  exercised  and  never  abused.  Contrasted  with 
others  of  a  far  superior  rank  in  life  and  tried  by  far  fewer 
temptations,  there  is  much  that  marks  and  removes  her  from  the 
common  herd.  For  Nell  Gwynn,  pretty,  witty  Nell,  there  exists 
a  tolerant  and  kindly  regard  which  the  following  pages  are 
designed  to  illustrate,  and  may  perhaps  serve  in  some  measure 
to  extend." 

Thus  fortified  by  adequate  examples,  and  placing  ourselves 
under  the  protection  of  the  precedents  we  have  cited,  we  proceed 
with  our  delicate  task. 

The  horoscope  of  Nell  Gwynn's  nativity,  still  preserved  in  the 
museum  at  Oxford,  states  that  she  was  born  in  London  on  the 
2d  of  February,  1650.  Her  father,  as  was  proved  a  century 
afterwards,  was  Captain  Thomas  Gwynn,  of  the  army,  the 
descendant  of  an  ancient  family  in  Wales.  A  cellar  in  the 
Coal  Yard  in  Drury  Lane  was  undoubtedly  the  spot  in  which  she 
first  saw  the  light — though  probably  there  was  httle  enough  to 
see.  Her  associations  must  have  been  of  the  most  degrading 
kind  ;  for  the  Coal  Yard,  then  an  obscure  and  infamous  resort, 
afterwards  became  notorious  as  one  of  the  residences  of  Jona- 
than Wild.  Her  first  occupation,  when  perhaps  ten  years  old. 
was  that  of  bar-tender,  "to  fill  strong  water  to  the  gentlemen," 
as  she  herself  expressed  it ;  and  her  second  was  to  sell  oranges 


238  N  E  L  L     G  W  Y  N  N  . 

at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  standing,  with  her  fellow  fruit  venders, 
in  the  front  row  of  the  pit,  with  her  back  to  the  stage.  The 
famiUar  cry,  "Oranges,  will  you  have  any  oranges?"  must  have 
come  clear  and  invitingly  from  the  lips  of  Nell  Gwynn.  The 
theatres  had  been  closed  for  twenty-three  years,  during  the 
wars  of  the  Protectorate  and  the  exile  of  the  sovereign.  They 
reopened  with  the  restoration  of  Charles  11.  in  1660,  with  a 
splendor  altogether  unusual  in  those  days,  and  to  an  eager  and 
enthusiastic  public.  The  old  craved  for  an  amusement  they  had 
long  been  denied,  while  the  young  were  feverishly  interested  in 
the  revival  of  an  entertainment  they  had  heard  so  praised.  Two 
new  theatres  were  built,  the  King's,  or  Drury  Lane,  erected 
on  the  site  of  the  present  edifice,  and  the  Duke's,  in  Portugal 

Row. 

Two  features  added  new  zest  to  the  fervor  of  the  theatrical 
revival ;  Charles  IL  was  the  first  English  monarch  who  visited 
the  play-house  and  witnessed  a  performance  there,  his  prede- 
cessors having  invariably  summoned  the  players  to  the  halls 
or  cockpits  attached  to  their  palaces  ;  and  during  his  reign, 
women's  parts  were,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the 
British  stage,  enacted  by  women.  Tlie  stage  was  lighted  with 
wax  candles ;  the  pit  was  uncovered,  for  the  sake  of  light,  as  the 
performances  commenced  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  so  that,  in 
case  of  rain,  that  part  of  the  audience  arose  in  disorder  and 
went  home.  The  dresses  were  magnificent,  for  the  king,  the 
queen  and  the  duke  gave  their  coronation  suits  to  the  actors, 
and  the  gentry  contributed  their  court  and  birthday  equipments 
which  had  been  worn  but  once.  Local  scenery  was  also  now  for 
the  first  time  introduced. 

Drury  Lane  opened  on  the  afternoon  of  the  8th  of  April, 
1663,  Miss  Eleanor  being  a  girl  of  thirteen.  In  her  capacity 
of  orange  girl,  she  owed  deference  and  obedience  to  a  superior 
known  as  Orange  MoU.  It  was  thought  beneath  the  character 
of  a  gentleman  to  chaffer  with  the  fruitwomen  over  the  price  of 


N  E  L  L     G  W  Y  N  N  .  239 

their  goods,  but  it  was  deemed  eminently  becoming  to  bandy 
words  with  them  and  to  exchange  equivocal  jests. 

The  first  mention  of  Nell  Gwynn  in  English  literature  occurs 
in  Pepys'  Diary  for  Monday,  the  3d  of  April,  1665.  Pepys  was 
at  the  Duke's  Theatre,  and  mentions  the  fact  that  he  sat  next  to 
"  pretty  witty  Nell  of  the  King's  House,"  as  the  only  redeeming 
feature  of  the  entertainment.  Nelly  had  now  become  an  actress 
herself,  though  by  what  means  or  through  whose  influence  wc 
are  not  informed,  even  by  the  omnipresent  Pepys.  We  know 
little  or  nothing  of  her  during  the  plague  and  the  great  fire 
of  London  of  the  year  1666  ;  but  she  again  appears  in  the 
diary,  on  the  8th  of  December,  1667,  in  the  character  of  Lady 
Wealthy,  in  "  The  English  Monsieur,"  a  comedy  written  for 
Nelly  by  the  Hon.  James  Howard.  Pepys  thus  commends  the 
play  and  the  players  :  "To  the  King's  House  and  there  did 
see  a  good  part  of  the  English  Monsieur,  which  is  a  mighty 
pretty  play,  very  witty  and  pleasant.  And  the  women  do  very 
well ;  but,  above  all,  little  Nelly  ;  that  I  am  mightily  pleased 
with  the  play,  and  much  with  the  house,  the  women  doing  better 
than  I  expected  ;  and  very  fair  women."  His  next  reference  to 
her,  somewhat  later,  runs  thus  :  "  Mrs.  Kneps  brought  to  us 
Nelly,  a  most  pretty  woman,  who  acted  the  great  part  of  Celia 
to-day  very  fine,  and  did  it  pretty  well.  I  kissed  her,  and  so  did 
my  wife,  and  a  mighty  pretty  soul  she  is."  He  concludes  the 
day's  chronicle  with  an  approving  summary  of  all  he  had  done 
during  the  twenty-four  hours,  "  specially  the  kissing  of  Nell." 

Dryden  now  claimed  the  services  of  the  young  actress  in  his 
new  tragi-comedy  of  "  Secret  Love,  or  the  Maiden  Queen,"  the 
plot  of  which  had  been  suggested  to  the  poet  by  the  king.  It 
was  performed  on  the  afternoon  of  the  2d  of  February,  1668. 
Mr.  Pepys  was  of  course  present,  and  thus  records  his  opinion  : 
"  The  truth  is,  there  is  a  comical  part  done  by  Nell,  which  is 
Florimel,  that  I  never  can  hope  ever  to  see  the  like  done  again 
by  man  or  woman."     Her  part,  though  arduous,  must  have  been 


240  N  E  L  L     G  W  Y  N  N  . 

an  vmusually  attractive  one,  for  we  are  told  that  she  was  con- 
stantly on  the  stage  ;  that  her  dialogue  was  loose,  merry  and 
rattling  ;  that  she  went  mad  in  one  act,  appeared  in  male  attire 
in  another,  and  danced  a  jig  in  the  fifth.  She  also  spoke  the 
epilogue  in  behalf  of  the  trembling  author.  Pepys  speaks  ad- 
miringly of  her  demeanor  when  disguised  as  a  young  gallant, 
and  adds,  "She  hath  the  motion  and  carriage  of  a  spark  the 
most  that  ever  I  saw  any  man  have." 

One  of  Nelly's  earliest  lovers  was  Lord  Buckhurst,  and  her 
defenders  claim,  that  whatever  opinion  the  pubHc  may  entertain 
of  the  morality  of  London  in  the  reign  of  Charles  IL,  it  at  least 
argues  something  for  the  taste  of  the  humble  orange  girl,  that 
her  lover  was  considered  and  looked  up  to  as  the  best  bred  man 
of  his  age  ;  that  he  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  war  against 
the  Dutch  ;  he  had  written  the  best  song  of  its  kind,  and  bitter 
yet  elegant  satires  ;  he  was  a  patron  of  every  species  of  merit ; 
while  his  table  was  one  of  the  last  to  exhibit  the  traditional 
hospitality  of  the  English  nobleman.  He  seems  to  have  loved 
Nelly  sincerely,  and  in  a  sonnet  to  her  beauty  declared  that 


"All  hearts  fall  a-leapiug  wherever  she  comes, 
And  beat  night  and  day  like  my  Lord  Craven's  drums." 


The  two  lovers  kept  a  merry  house  at  Epsom  during  the 
midsummer  months  of  1G68.  Nelly  retm-ned  to  the  stage  in 
August,  resumed  some  of  her  former  parts,  and  created  the 
character  of  Mirida  in  "All  Mistaken,"  in  which,  being  impor- 
tuned by  a  fat  lover  and  a  lean  one,  she  tells  the  fat  one  she  will 
marry  him  when  he  is  leaner,  and  the  lean  one  when  he  is  fatter. 
In  16G9  occurred  the  great  change  in  Nelly's  condition — "  one 
that  removed  her  from  many  temptations,  and  led  to  the  exhibi- 
tion of  traits  of  character  and  good  feeling  which  more  than 
account  for  the  fascination  connected  with  her  name " — she 
became  the  mistress  of  the  king.     Buckhurst  resigned  her  in 


NELLGWYNN.  241 

consideration  of  an  ofl&ce  and  a  pension  of  £1,000,  the  promise 
of  an  earldom  and  an  ambassadorship  to  France.  Nelly  con- 
tinued to  perform  aU  her  theatrical  engagements,  dividing  her 
time  between  Whitehall  and  Drury  Lane,  until  the  spring  of 
1670,  when  Dryden's  new  tragedy  of  "The  Conquest  of  Gran- 
ada," was  postponed  on  account  of  her  absence.  After  giving 
birth,  on  the  8th  of  May,  to  the  future  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  the 
first  of  the  name,  she  resumed  her  study  of  the  character  of 
Almahide,  the  last  she  was  destined  to  play.  Charles  became 
more  fond  of  her  than  ever,  fascinated  by  her  charming  per- 
formance of  this  character — an  effect  thus  commemorated  by 
Granville  : 

"Granada  lost,  behold  her  pomps  restor'd, 
And  Almahide  again  by  kings  ador'd." 

Nell  Gwynn  is  described  to  have  been  in  person  considerably 
below  the  middle  size,  but  formed  with  perfect  elegance  ;  the 
contour  of  her  face  was  round,  her  features  were  delicate,  her 
eyes  bright  and  inteUigent,  and  often  positively  closed  by  the 
merry  laugh  which  pervaded  her  face  ;  her  cheek  was  usually 
dimpled  with  smiles  and  her  countenance  radiant  with  hilarity, 
but  when  at  rest  it  was  soft  and  even  pensive  in  its  expression  ; 
her  voice  was  sweet  and  well  modulated ;  her  hair  glossy,  abund- 
ant, and  of  a  light  auburn  ;  her  hands  were  singularly  small  and 
beautiful,  and  her  pretty  feet  so  very  diminutive  as  to  aflford 
occasion  for  mirth  as  well  as  admiration. 

The  inconstant  Charles,  during  the  very  height  of  his  fancy 
for  Nelly,  became  also  violently  enamored  of  one  of  the  maids 
of  honor  to  the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  M'Ue  Louise  Ren^e  de 
Penencourt  de  Qu^rouaille,  a  young  lady  of  nineteen  years. 
She  returned  the  monarch's  passion,  and  was  created  Duchess  of 
Portsmouth.  Nelly  did  not  consider  this  infidelity  on  the  part  of 
his  majesty  as  any  excuse  for  unfaithfulness  on  her  own,  and 
took  the  rivalry  of  Madame  Carwell — as  her  French  name  was 

31 


242  NELL    GWYNN. 

commonly  pronounced — in  thorough  good  part.  Charles,  at  this 
period,  lodged  Nelly  in  a  house  on  the  south  side  of  PaU  Mall, 
with  a  garden  towards  St.  James's  Park,  and  sent  her  a  lease  for 
a  term  of  years.  She,  considering  the  gift  in  its  present  shape 
unworthy  of  the  King  of  England,  returned  him  the  papers  with 
a  merry  jest  at  his  expense.  Charles  admitted  the  justness  of 
the  reproof  by  conveying  the  house  free  to  Nell  and  her  repre- 
sentatives forever.  "  The  truth  of  this  story,"  says  Cunningham, 
"is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  the  house  which  occupies  the  site 
of  the  one  in  which  Nelly  lived,  now  No.  79,  and  tenanted  by 
the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts, 
is  the  only  freehold  on  the  south  or  park  side  of  Pall  Mall." 

The  antipathy  prevailing  at  this  period  between  the  Protest- 
ants and  Catholics  doubtless  contributed  to  swell  Nell  Gwynn's 
popularity  with  the  people,  by  contrasting  her  with  the  French 
lady,  her  rival.  She  was  an  English  girl — a  Protestant — of 
humble  origin,  and  had  been  a  favorite  during  her  short  career 
upon  the  stage,  and  was  both  a  beauty  and  a  wit.  Carwell  was 
a  French  girl — a  Cathohc — of  noble  birth,  beautiful  indeed,  but 
destitute  of  wit.  Nelly  became  a  popular  idol ;  and  the  chroni- 
cles of  the  day  furnish  a  multitude  of  instances  of  her  sway  over 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  She  was  one  day  riding  in  her  coach 
at  Oxford,  when  the  mob,  mistaking  her  for  Madame  Carwell, 
gathered  round  her,  and  commenced  abusing  her.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window,  in  no  wise  disconcerted,  and  said,  "Pray, 
good  people,  be  civil :  I  am  the  Protestant  one."  The  angry 
crowd  became  at  once  respectful. 

A  goldsmith  having  made  an  elegant  service  of  plate  to  be 
presented  by  the  king  to  Madame  Carwell,  the  people  crowded 
round  the  windows  to  see  it.  On  learning  for  whom  it  was 
intended,  they  burst  into  violent  denunciations  of  the  king, 
wished  the  silver  was  melted  and  poured  down  Carwell's  throat, 
and  unanimously  declared  "it  had  been  much  better  bestowed 
upon  Madame  Ellen." 


NELL    GWYNN.  243 

Madame  de  Sevign6  wrote  thus  from  London  upon  the  rival 
favorites  :  "  Querouaille  is  laying  up  money  and  makes  herself 
feared  and  respected  by  as  many  as  she  can  ;  but  she  did  not 
foresee  that  she  should  find  a  young  actress  in  her  way,  whom 
the  king  dotes  on.  She  cannot  detach  him  from  her  for  an 
instant.  The  actress  is  as  haughty  as  the  Duchess  of  Ports- 
mouth :  she  defies  her,  makes  light  of  her,  steals  the  king  away 
from  her,  and  boasts  of  his  preference.  She  is  young,  lively, 
careless,  indiscreet,  wild,  and  witty  ;  she  sings,  dances,  and  acts 
her  part  with  a  good  grace  ;  has  a  son  by  the  king,  and  hopes  to 
have  him  acknowledged." 

Prints,  epigrams,  songs,  and  libels  were  constantly  published 
upon  this  fruitful  theme — the  two  favorites.  In  these  popular 
invasions  of  the  king's  private  life,  Nelly  invariably  triumphed 
over  her  French  competitor.  One  of  her  retorts  upon  the  duchess 
was  reduced  to  verse,  and  in  this  form  has  been  preserved.  It 
runs  thus : 

"The  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  one  time  supped  with  the  King's  Majesty: 
Two  chickens  were  at  table  when  the  Duchess  would  make  'em  three; 
Nell  Gwynn  being  by,  denied  the  same:   the  Duchess  speedily 
Reply 'd,  'Here's  one,  another  two,  and  two  and  one  make  three.' 

"  "Tis  well  said,  lady,'  answered  Nell;  'O  King,  here's  one  for  thee, 
Another  for  myself,  sweet  Charles,  'cause  you  and  I  agree ; 
The  third  she  may  take  herself  because  she  found  the  same !' 
The  king  himself  laughed  heartily,  whilst  Portsmouth  blushed  for  shame." 

The  favorite  expletive  of  Charles  II.  was  "  Odd's  fish!"  and 
NeUy  used  to  divert  him  exceedingly  by  making  free  with  this 
expression  at  unexpected  moments.  She  gave  a  concert  one 
night  to  the  king,  the  duke  his  brother,  and  some  half  dozen  of 
their  intimate  associates.  The  principal  singer,  Bowman,  sang 
several  of  those  extravagantly  loyal  songs  which  retain  their 
popularity  even  to  this  day,  and  upon  the  conclusion  of  the 
entertainment,  the  king  expressed  himself  delighted.     "Then, 


244  NELL    GWYNN. 

sir,"  said  Nelly,  "to  show  you  do  not  speak  like  a  courtier,  I 
hope  you  will  make  the  performers  a  handsome  present."  The 
king  felt  in  his  pockets,  and  said  he  had  no  money ;  he  asked  the 
duke  to  lend  him  some.  The  duke  made  a  search,  and  declared 
that  he  had  none  either.  Nell  turned  to  the  other  guests,  and, 
assuming  the  king's  air  and  accent,  exclaimed,  "  Odd's  fish,  what 
company  have  I  got  into  !" 

The  following  expedient  was  resorted  to  by  Nell,  to  induce 
the  king  to  pay  some  attention  to  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  One 
of  the  lords  of  the  council,  whom  Charles  would  not  permit  to 
speak  to  him  of  business,  complained  to  Nell  of  his  provoking 
negligence.  Nell  laid  him  a  wager  of  a  hundred  pounds  that 
she  would  hit  upon  a  scheme  that  would  bring  the  merriest 
prince  ahve  to  the  council  that  very  night.  She  sent  for  Killi- 
grew,  the  manager  of  Drm-y  Lane,  and  desired  him  to  dress 
himself  as  if  he  were  going  on  a  journey,  and  to  burst  uncere- 
moniously into  the  king's  apartment.  She  then  told  him  what 
to  say  in  reply  to  his  certain  "odd's  fish,"  or  perhaps  more  vio- 
lent explosion.  He  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  was  received  with  a 
"  What,  Killigrew !  are  you  mad  ?  Did  I  not  order  that  nobody 
should  disturb  me  ?"  "  Oh,  I  don't  mind  your  orders — no,  not 
I,"  returned  Killigrew ;  "and  I'm  going  as  fast  as  I  can  !"  "Why, 
where  are  you  going  to?"  asked  his  majesty.  "To  hell !"  replied 
the  comedian,  "to  fetch  up  Oliver  Cromwell  from  thence,  to 
take  some  care  of  the  national  concerns  ;  for  I  am  sure  your 
majesty  takes  none."  Charles  went  that  night  to  the  council, 
and  Nelly  won  her  wager. 

Nell  Gwynn  gave  birth  to  a  second  son  on  the  25tli  of 
December,  1C71  ;  he  was  named  James,  out  of  compliment  to 
the  Duke  of  York,  and,  like  his  elder  brother,  acknowledged  by 
the  king.  Soon  afterwards,  Charles  was  seized  with  a  mania  for 
creating  titles  and  distributing  orders  and  offices.  Nelly  saw 
peerages  and  earldoms  showered  right  and  left  upon  persons 
whom  she  thought  less  deserving  of  such  distinctions  than  the 


NELL    GWYNN.  245 

king's  own  flesh  and  blood.  So  she  appealed  to  the  source  of  all 
her  favor,  her  wit,  and  resolved  to  make  an  effort,  in  her  own 
quaint  way,  in  behalf  of  her  eldest  boy.  So,  while  he  was  one 
day  romping  with  his  father,  she  said,  abruptly,  "Come  hither, 
you  little  bastard  !"  The  king,  very  much  shocked,  scolded  Nell 
roundly  ;  she  replied,  with  an  air  of  demure  submission,  "  I'm 
very  sorry  ;  but  I've  no  better  name  to  call  him  by,  poor  boy !" 
The  king  laughed,  felt  the  implied  reproach,  and  admitted  the 
plea.  Charles  Beauclerc,  his  eldest  son  by  Nell  Gwynn,was  soon 
created  Baron  of  Heddington  and  Earl  of  Burford,  and,  some- 
what later,  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  Registrar  of  the  High  Court  of 
Chancery,  and  Grand  Falconer  of  England.  He  was  betrothed 
by  the  king  to  Lady  Diana  de  Vere,  the  daughter  of  the  twen- 
tieth and  last  Earl  of  Oxford,  and,  in  point  of  rank,  the  first 
heiress  of  the  three  kingdoms.  "Though  the  lively  orange-girl," 
says  Cunningham,  "was  not  spared  to  witness  the  marriage,  yet 
she  hved  to  see  the  future  wife  of  her  son  in  the  infancy  of  those 
charms  which  made  her  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  of  the 
KneUer  Beauties,  still  so  attractive  in  the  collection  at  Hampton 
Court." 

The  idea  of  establishing  a  hospital  at  Chelsea  for  the  veterans 
of  the  war,  is  believed  to  have  originated  with  Nell  Gwynn.  The 
corner-stone  was  laid  by  the  king  in  the  spring  of  1682,  and  the 
student  of  the  history  of  his  reign  will  not  readily  believe  that 
he  would  have  urged  the  building  forward  with  the  zeal  he  did, 
unmoved  by  some  influence  from  without.  The  tradition  is,  that 
Nell  was  one  day  riding  in  the  city  in  her  coach,  when  an  invalid 
soldier  stopped  at  the  open  door  of  her  carriage  and  solicited 
charity.  He  had  been  in  service  in  the  civil  war,  he  said,  and 
had  lost  a  limb  while  fighting  for  the  royal  cause.  He  was  now 
friendless  and  totally  destitute.  NeU  Gwynn  hastened  to  the 
king  and  laid  the  case  before  him.  The  interest  thus  awakened 
in  behalf  of  one  sufferer  soon  led  to  the  reflection  that  there 
must  be  many  others,  disabled  at  Worcester  and  Marston  Moor  ; 


246  NELL    GWTNN. 

and  that  the  veterans  who  still  lingered  in  the  ranks  of  the  stand- 
ing army  which  the  wars  of  the  restoration  had  produced,  must 
soon  give  way  to  younger  and  more  active  substitutes.  What 
would  become  of  them,  thus  deprived  in  advanced  years  of  their 
only  means  of  livehhood  ?  They  would  be  dependent  upon 
public  charity  and  the  casual  bounty  of  the  sympathetic.  These 
reflections  induced  in  Nell's  mind  the  idea  of  an  asylum  for  the 
crippled  remnants  of  the  war — an  idea  in  which  she  enthusiasti- 
cally persevered,  never  letting  her  royal  lover  rest  till  her 
benevolent  purpose  was  accomi^lished. 

There  are  several  facts  which  strongly  support  this  popular 
tradition.  Nelly  was  a  soldier's  daughter,  and  her  early  suffer- 
ings and  privations  had  been  those  incident  to  a  soldier's  life. 
The  benevolence  of  her  character  was  well  known,  and  her  quick 
sensibilities  would  have  been  naturally  enlisted  in  behalf  of  such 
patriotic  sufferers  as  her  war-worn  proteges.  She  is  still  the  idol 
of  the  pensioners,  and  with  them  the  memory  of  Nell  is  sacred. 
But  the  circumstance  most  corroborative  of  the  tradition  is  the 
fact  that  her  portrait  serves  to  this  day  as  the  sign  of  an  old 
ale-house  contiguous  to  the  hospital.  Sixty  years  ago,  an  inscrip- 
tion beneath  the  portrait,  now  illegible,  chronicled  in  positive 
terms  the  part  NeU  had  played  in  founding  and  erecting  the 
hospital.  The  Rev.  Daniel  Lysons,  in  his  Environs  of  London, 
published  in  1795,  speaking  in  the  present  tense,  says  :  "Under- 
neath the  portrait  is  an  inscription  attributing  the  foundation  to 
her  desire."  This  inn  and  the  sign  form  part  of  the  background 
in  Wilkie's  famous  picture  of  the  Chelsea  Pensioners.  Long 
may  she  swing,  exclaims  Cunningham,  with  her  favorite  lamb,  in 
the  row  or  street  thus  commemorated  forever ! 

Charles  II.  was  now  approaching  his  end.  Having  prolonged 
a  revel  through  Sunday  night  till  Monday  morning,  he  swooned 
away  and  lay  for  several  hours  in  apoplexy,  all  hope  being  aban- 
doned by  his  physicians.  He  revived,  but  expired  on  the  follow- 
ing Friday,  the  6th  of  February,  1685.     Though  not  absolutely 


NELLGWYNN.  247 

his  dying  wish,  yet  his  last  recommendation  to  his  brother  and 
successor,  James  II.,  was  in  these  pathetic  and  memorable  words : 
■'  Let  not  poor  Nelly  starve."  Of  this  request,  Charles  James 
Fox  says,  in  his  History  of  James  II.,  "that  it  is  much  to  his 
honor  ;  and  that  they  who  censure  it,  seem,  in  their  zeal  to  show 
themselves  strict  moraUsts,  to  have  suffered  their  notions  of  vice 
and  virtue  to  have  fallen  into  strange  confusion."  Mrs.  Jameson 
remarks  of  the  dying  speech,  that  it  is  one  among  the  few  traits 
which  redeem  the  sensual  and  worthless  Charles  from  utter 
contempt. 

NeU  was  to  have  been  made  Countess  of  Greenwich,  had  the 
king  lived,  if  we  may  credit  the  following  passage  in  a  manu- 
script folio  entitled  "The  Royall  Cedar:"  "Hellenor  or  Nel- 
guine,  daughter  to  Thomas  Guine,  should  bein  advanced  to  be 
Countes  of  Greeniez,  but  hindered  by  the  king's  death."  She 
went  into  mourning  and  sincerely  lamented  the  loss  of  him  whom 
so  few  others  regretted ;  hers  was  no  fictitious  sorrow  for  the 
death  of  the  Cham  of  Tartary,  as  all  official  assumption  of  black 
was  then  termed.  The  king's  straitened  circumstances  had  before 
compelled  her  "  to  boil  a  portion  of  her  plate  ;"  and  now,  if  not 
arrested  for  debt,  she  was  outlawed  for  the  non-payment  of 
several  long-standing  biUs.  During  her  outlawry,  Otway,  the 
poet  and  dramatist,  and  tutor  to  her  son,  died  miserably  of 
starvation  ;  this  afflicted  her  more  than  her  own  destitution. 
King  James,  however,  remembered  his  brother's  dying  request, 
and  in  the  midst  of  his  own  pressing  needs,  caused  the  sum  of 
£730  to  be  paid  to  one  Richard  Graham,  "to  be  by  him  paid 
over  to  the  several  tradesmen,  creditors  of  Mrs.  Ellen  Gwynn, 
in  satisfaction  of  their  debts,  for  which  the  said  Ellen  stood  out- 
lawed." In  the  same  year,  he  made  her  also  two  separate 
presents  of  £500  ;  and  caused  Beeswood  Park,  near  Sherwood 
Forest  of  merry  memory,  and  a  demesne  of  the  crown,  to  be 
settled  upon  her  for  life,  and  after  her  death,  upon  the  Duke  of 
St.  Albans.     He  afterwards  made  her  an  aUowauce  of  £1,500  a 


248  NELL    GWYNN. 

year.  These  acts  of  kindness  towards  Nelly  gave  rise  to  the 
rumor  that  she  went  to  mass  and  was  converted  to  popery,  as  it 
was  well  known  that  James  desired  to  reestablish  the  Romish 
worship  in  the  kingdom.  The  rumor  was  groundless  ;  Nelly 
always  remained  a  Protestant. 

Eleanor  Gwynn  survived  her  lover  little  more  than  two  years. 
She  conducted  herself  with  the  strictest  decorum,  spending  much 
of  her  time  in  devotion  and  a  portion  of  her  narrow  means  in 
beneficence.  Her  health  began  to  dechne,  and  Dr.  Lower,  the 
first  doctor  in  London,  who  had  long  visited  her  as  a  gossip, 
now  attended  her  as  a  physician.  She  sank  rapidly,  and  Lower 
bethought  him  of  the  propriety  of  sending  for  a  clergyman.  A 
satire  which  had  been  lately  published  represented  her  as  pining 
upon  her  death-bed,  and  as  saying, 

"  Send  for  Dr.  Bnmet,  or  I  die." 

But  Bishop  Burnet  considered  her  "the  wildest  and  indiscreetest 
creature  that  ever  was  in  a  court,"  and  Lower  thought  best  to 
apply  to  a  less  intolerant  divine.  Dr.  Tenison,  afterwards  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  was  then  vicar  of  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields 
and  Nell's  residence  in  Pall  Mall  was  within  the  limits  of  his 
parish.  He  was  known  to  be  a  liberal  and  courageous  minister 
in  those  difficult  days  of  the  church.  Lower  asked  his  attend- 
ance, and  brought  him  to  the  dying  woman's  bedside. 

On  the  9th  of  July  she  made  her  will,  revoking  all  former 
bequests.  There  is  nothing  peculiar  in  this  instrument,  beyond 
the  artlessness  with  which  she  styles  herself  a  spinster,  and 
recommends  herself  "whence  she  came,  in  hopes  of  a  joyfu 
resurrection,"  giving  and  devising  all  her  property  whatsoever 
"  to  her  dear  natural  son,  his  grace  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  and 
the  heirs  of  his  body."  But  the  requests  contained  in  a  codicil 
added  three  months  later,  are  worthy  of  more  specific  mention. 
In  this  she  begged  that  she  might  be  buried  in  the  church  of 


NELLGWYNN.  249 

St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields ;  that  Dr.  Tenison  would  preach  her 
funeral  sermon  ;  that  her  son  the  duke  would  give  £100  to 
Dr.  Tenison  for  taking  poor  debtors  out  of  prison  during  the 
conaing  winter  ;  that,  to  show  her  charity  to  those  who  differed 
from  her  in  rehgion,  £50  might  be  applied  to  the  use  of  the 
poor  of  the  Romish  faith  of  the  parish  of  St.  James ;  that  her 
present  servants  might  have  mourning  and  a  year's  wages  beyond 
the  wages  due  ;  and  that  his  grace  would  be  pleased  to  lay  out 
£20  yearly  for  the  release  of  poor  debtors  on  Christmas  day. 
She  is  also  said,  though  no  such  provision  occurs  in  the  will, 
to  have  left  a  considerable  annual  sum  to  St.  Martin's  church, 
on  condition  that  on  every  Thursday  evening  in  the  year, 
there  should  be  six  men  employed,  for  the  space  of  one  hour, 
in  ringing,  for  which  they  were  to  have  a  roasted  shoulder 
of  mutton  and  ten  shillings  for  beer.  Another  authority  adds 
that  the  ringers  of  St.  Martin's  enjoy  this  donation  to  this  day. 

One  month  after  signing  these  her  last  bequests,  Nell  Gw3'nn 
died,  in  November,  1687,  her  last  hours  and  indeed  the  last 
years  of  her  life  having  been  spent  in  sincere  repentance  and 
"  in  all  the  contrite  symptoms  of  a  Christian  sincerity."  She 
was  buried  on  the  night  of  the  17th,  in  St.  Martin's-in-the- 
Fields,  and  Dr.  Tenison  preached  her  funeral  sermon,  urging 
her  benevolence,  her  penitence  and  her  meritorious  death  as 
examples  to  all  who  heard  him.  Though  the  funeral  was  not 
an  ostentatious  one,  the  expenses  amounted  to  £375,  and  were 
exactly  met  by  the  next  quarter's  allowance,  which,  by  the  way, 
King  James  ordered  to  be  continued  to  her  son.  The  Duke  of 
St.  Albans  accepted  the  pecuniary  responsibility  placed  upon 
him  in  the  codicil  to  his  mother's  wiU,  and  signed  an  acknow- 
ledgment to  that  effect. 

Dr.  Tenison  did  not  escape  censure  and  persecution  for  his 
bold  and  charitable  act.  He  was  compelled  to  denounce  as  a 
forgery  a  sermon  published  and  cried  about  the  streets  as  the 
one  that  he  had  preached  over  the  coffin  of  Nell  Gwynn.     His 

32 


250  N  E  L  L    G  W  Y  N  N  . 

application  for  the  vacant  see  of  Lincoln,  in  1691,  was  opposed 
by  the  young  Queen  Mary's  advisers,  on  the  ground  that  "he 
had  preached  a  notable  funeral  sermon  in  praise  of  Ellen 
Gwynn."  But  the  queen  rephed,  "What  then?  I  have  heard 
as  much,  and  this  is  a  sign  that  the  poor  unfortunate  woman 
died  penitent ;  for,  if  I  have  read  a  man's  heart  through  his 
looks,  had  she  not  made  a  truly  pious  end,  the  doctor  never 
could  have  been  induced  to  speak  well  of  her."  The  excellent 
vicar  was  appointed  to  the  see,  and  as  we  have  said,  lived  to 
fill  with  honor  and  renown  the  Archbishopric  of  Canterbury. 

The  whole  tenor  of  contemporaneous  testimony,  as  well  as  of 
later  criticism,  is  that  of  apology  if  not  even  of  justification. 
We  have  already  cited  Tenison,  Queen  Mary,  Mrs.  Jameson, 
Cunningham,  Fox,  Pepys  and  others,  and  might  multiply  favora- 
ble opinions  to  any  extent.  Colly  Cibber  avers  that  "if  the 
common  fame  of  her  may  be  believed,  which  in  my  memory  was 
not  doubted,  she  had  less  to  be  laid  to  her  charge  than  any 
other  of  those  ladies  who  were  in  the  same  state  of  preferment." 
Douglas  Jcrrold,  in  the  preface  to  his  drama  of  "  Nell  Gwynn,  or 
the  Prologue,"  thus  ardently  assumes  her  defence  :  "  Her  whole 
life  proved  that  error  had  been  forced  upon  her  by  circumstances 
rather  than  indulged  by  choice.  It  was  under  this  impression 
that  the  following  little  comedy  was  undertaken  ;  under  this 
conviction  an  attempt  has  been  made  to  show  some  glimpses 
of  the  'silver  lining'  of  a  character,  to  whose  influence  over 
an  unprincipled  voluptuary  we  owe  a  national  asylum  for  veteran 
soldiers,  and  whose  brightness  shines  with  the  most  amiable 
lustre  in  many  actions  of  her  life  and  in  the  last  disposal  of  her 
worldly  effects."  Mrs.  Jameson  adds  that  Nell  introduced  into 
court  "the  same  frolic  gaiety,  the  same  ingenuous  nature,  and 
the  same  kind  and  cordial  benevolence  which  had  rendered 
her  adored  among  her  comrades.  Her  wit  was  as  natural  and  as 
peculiar  to  herself  as  the  perfume  to  the  flower.  She  seems 
to  have  been,  as  the  Duchess  de  Chaulnes  expressed  it,  '  femme 


NELLGWYNN.  251 

d'esprit,  par  la  grace  de  Dieu.'  Her  bon-mots  fell  from  her  lips 
with  such  an  unpremeditated  felicity  of  expression,  and  her  tone 
of  humor  was  so  perfectly  original,  that  even  her  maddest  flights 
became  her,  as  if,  says  one  of  her  contemporaries,  she  alone  had 

the  patent  from  heaven  to  engross  all  hearts The  truth 

is,  Nell  had  a  natm'al  turn  for  goodness  which  survived  all  her 
excesses  ;  she  was  wild  and  extravagant,  but  not  rapacious  or 
selfish ;  frail,  not  vicious.  At  the  time  that  the  king's  mistresses 
were  everywhere  execrated  for  their  avarice  and  arrogance,  it 
was  remai'ked  that  Nell  Gwynn  never  asked  anything  for  her- 
self, never  gave  herself  unbecoming  airs,  as  if  she  deemed  her 
unhappy  situation  a  subject  of  pride  ;  there  is  not  a  single 
instance  of  her  using  her  influence  over  Charles  for  an  unworthy 
purpose  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  the  presents  which  the  king's 
love  or  bounty  lavished  upon  her,  she  gave  and  spent  freely ; 
and  misfortune,  deserved  or  undeserved,  never  approached  her 
in  vain."  Mrs.  Hale  thus  adds  her  tribute  of  exoneration : 
"  Poor  Nelly  was  the  victim  of  circumstances,  not  the  votary 
of  vice  ;  and  of  the  inmates  of  that  wicked  and  corrupt  court, 
she  alone  has  won  pity  and  forgiveness  from  posterity.  She 
deserves  this,  for  she  was  pitiful  to  others." 

The  title  of  Duke  of  St.  Albans  still  exists  in  the  person 
of  the  fifth  of  the  name.  Nell's  eldest  son  lived  to  distinguish 
himself  at  the  battle  of  Belgrade,  and  to  die  a  knight  of  the 
garter.  He  was  the  father  of  eight  sons  by  the  Lady  Diana  de 
Vere.  Of  the  second  and  third  duke  of  the  name,  nothing 
of  moment  is  known,  but  the  fourth  brought  the  almost  for- 
gotten title  conspicuously  before  the  public,  by  marrying,  about 
the  year  1825,  the  widow  of  the  millionaire  Coutts.  She  had 
begun  life  as  an  actress,  imder  the  name  of  Harriet  Mellon. 
As  she  had  no  children  by  either  the  banker  or  the  duke,  she 
left  the  enormous  wealth  which  the  former  had  willed  to  her,  to 
the  exclusion  of  his  children  by  a  previous  marriage,  to  her 
step  grand- daughter  Angela  Burdett,  ou  the  condition  that  she 


252  NELL     GWYNN. 

should  assume  the  name  of  Coutts  in  addition  to  hei'  own.  This 
was  the  origin  of  the  enormous  wealth  of  Angela  Burdett  Coutts, 
and  in  this  way  is  "  pretty  witty  Nell "  connected  with  the 
richest  private  woman  in  the  world,  and  the  most  munificent 
benefactress  of  modern  times. 


LADY   MARY   ¥ORTLEY   MONTAGU. 


Lady  Mart  Pierrepont  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Evelyn, 
Duke  of  Kingston,  and  of  the  Lady  Mary  Fieldmg  :  she  was  the 
own  cousin  of  Fielding  the  novelist.  She  was  born  at  Thoresby, 
in  Nottinghamshire,  in  or  about  the  year  1690  ;  she  lost  her 
mother  at  the  age  of  four  years,  having  at  the  time  two  sisters 
younger  than  herself.  Her  biographers  differ  widely  upon  the 
subject  of  her  education,  one  asserting  that  the  early  dawn  of 
her  genius  awakened  her  father  to  the  necessity  of  sedulously 
cultivating  her  natural  gifts,  another  attributing  her  proficiency 
wholly  to  her  own  indomitable  perseverance.  Under  whichever 
influence  it  was  that  her  youthful  studies  were  prosecuted,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  her  precocious  excellence  in  Greek,  Latin, 
and  French.  Bishop  Burnet  superintended  her  education  at  a 
later  period,  and  read  and  corrected  her  manuscript  translation 
of  the  Encliiridion  of  Epictetus. 

That  she  was  a  favorite  with  her  father  in  her  early  years, 
and  that  whether  he  cared  to  foster  her  talents  or  not,  he  at 
least  appreciated  them,  is  evident  from  the  following  anecdote 
of  her  first  public  triumph.  The  gentlemen  of  the  famous  Kit- 
cat  Club,  of  which  her  father  was  a  member,  having  met  to 
choose  toasts  for  the  year,  the  whim  seized  him  to  nominate  her, 


2S3 


254  LADY     MARY    WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

then  but  eight  years  old,  on  the  ground  of  her  superior  beauty. 
The  other  members  demui'red,  alleging  that  the  rules  of  the 
club  forbade  them  to  elect  a  beauty,  whose  claim  to  the  honor 
depended  ujion  report  alone.  So  Lord  Kingston  sent  for  Lady 
Mary,  that  she  might  defend  his  choice  and  substantiate  her 
claim  by  her  actual  presence.  She  came,  sumptuously  dressed, 
and  was  received  with  acclamations.  Her  health  was  drunk  with 
all  the  honors,  and  her  name  engraved  in  due  form  upon  a 
drinking-glass.  She  was  passed  from  lap  to  lap,  caressed,  kissed, 
and  flattered  by  the  Kitcat  statesmen,  wits,  artists,  and  poets  ; 
her  father  ordered  her  picture  to  be  painted  for  the  clubroom, 
that  she  might  be  enrolled  a  regular  toast. 

As  she  grew  up,  while  still  pursuing  her  studies  with  unwea- 
ried ardor,  she  assumed,  at  intervals,  the  direction  of  the  various 
departments  of  her  father's  household.  The  most  important 
duty  she  was  thus  called  upon  to  fulfiU  was  that  of  carver  at 
table,  upon  the  public  days  of  the  borough.  To  prepare  herself 
for  this  service,  she  took  lessons  three  times  a  week  of  a  pro- 
fessor who  taught  the  art  scientifically,  and  on  occasions  when 
she  was  to  exercise  her  skill,  ate  her  own  dinner  an  hour  or  two 
beforehand,  in  order  that  her  strength  might  not  give  out,  nor 
her  own  appetite  interrupt  her  devotion  to  the  appetites  of 
others.  No  one  was  allowed  to  assist  her,  every  joint  being 
taken  to  her  in  turn,  and  her  father's  exclusive  duty  being  to 
push  the  bottle.  It  was  an  honor  to  be  served  by  her,  and  an 
oflcnce  to  be  omitted,  so  that  we  are  told  that  "the  most  incon- 
siderable among  the  guests — the  curate  or  squire's  younger 
brother — if  suffered  through  her  neglect  to  help  himself  to  a 
slice  of  the  mutton  placed  before  him,  would  have  chewed  it  in 
bitterness,  and  gone  home  an  affronted  man,  half  inclined  to  give 
a  wrong  vote  at  the  next  election."  Thus  passed  her  youth,  the 
scenes  which  we  have  described  not  being  sufficiently  frequent 
to  interrupt  her  leisure  or  become  a  disturbing  cause  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  life. 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  255 

Her  most  intimate  friend  was  Mrs.  Anne  Wortley,  daughter 
of  Admiral  Montagu,  the  first  Earl  of  Sandwich.  Her  brother, 
the  Honorable  Edward  Wortley  Montagu,  a  scholar  and  a  poli- 
tician, the  companion  and  intimate  associate  of  Addison,  Steele, 
and  Congreve,  saw  Lady  Mary,  then  in  her  twentieth  year,  by 
accident,  in  his  sister's  room.  It  was  not  the  fashion,  nor  could 
it  have  been  the  interest,  of  the  wits  of  those  days  to  associate 
with  ladies — the  latter  having  been  qualified  by  education  and 
habit  for  no  avocations  better  than  card-playing,  tea-drinking,  or 
the  retailing  of  scaiidal.  The  meeting  of  the  two  compelled  an 
introduction,  and  the  scholar  left  the  apartment  dazzled  by  Lady 
Mary's  beauty,  charmed  by  her  wit,  and  gratified  beyond  mea- 
sure by  her  cultivation  and  classic  tastes.  He  was  allowed  by 
his  sister  to  read  the  letters  which  passed  between  them,  and 
did  not  disguise  his  admiration  of  the  sentiments  and  style  of 
her  correspondent.  Anne  Wortley  died  soon  afterwards,  and 
her  brother  and  Lady  Mary,  who  had  both  of  them  very  nearly 
avowed  their  love,  continued  the  epistolary  intercourse.  They 
soon  became  engaged :  from  one  of  the  lady's  letters  written 
upon  the  subject  of  marriage,  we  make  the  following  extract : 

"If  we  marry,  our  happiness  must  consist  in  loving  one 
another  ;  'tis  principally  my  concern  to  think  of  the  most  prob- 
able method  of  making  that  love  eternal.  You  object  against 
living  in  London  :  I  am  not  fond  of  it  myself,  and  readily  give  it 
up  to  you,  though  I  am  assured  there  needs  more  art  to  keep  a 
fondness  alive  in  solitude,  where  it  generally  preys  upon  itself. 
There  is  one  article  absolutely  necessary — to  be  ever  beloved, 
one  must  be  ever  agreeable.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  being 
agreeable  without  a  thorough  good  humor — a  natural  sweetness 
of  temper  enlivened  by  cheerfulness.  Whatever  natural  funds 
of  gaiety  one  is  born  with,  'tis  necessary  to  be  entertained  with 
agreeable  objects.  Anybody  capable  of  taking  pleasure,  when 
they  confine  themselves  to  one  place,  should  take  care  'tis  the 
place  in  the  world  the  most  agreeable. 


256      LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

"  Whatever  you  may  now  think  (now  perhaps  you  may  have 
some  fondness  for  me),  though  your  love  shoukl  continue  in  full 
force,  there  are  hours  when  the  most  beloved  mistress  would  be 
troublesome.  People  are  not  forever  (nor  is  it  in  human  nature 
that  they  should  be)  disposed  to  be  fond  ;  you  would  be  glad  to 
find  in  me  the  friend  and  the  companion.  To  be  agreeably  the 
last,  it  is  necessary  to  be  gay  and  entertaining.  A  perpetual 
sohtude,  in  a  place  where  you  see  nothing  to  raise  your  spirits, 
at  length  wears  them  out,  and  conversation  insensibly  falls  into 
dull  and  insipid.  When  I  have  no  more  to  say  to  you,  you  will 
like  me  no  longer.  How  dreadful  is  that  view  !  I  shall  lose  the 
vivacity  which  should  entertain  you,  and  you  will  have  nothing 
to  recompense  you  for  what  you  have  lost.  Very  few  people 
that  have  settled  entirely  in  the  country,  but  have  grown  at 
length  weary  of  one  another.  The  lady's  conversation  generally 
falls  into  a  thousand  impertinent  effects  of  idleness,  and  the 
gentleman  falls  in  love  with  his  dogs  and  his  horses,  and  out  of 
love  with  everything  else.  I  am  not  now  arguing  in  favor  of 
the  town  ;  you  have  answered  me  on  that  point.  But  'tis  my 
opinion,  'tis  necessary,  to  be  happy,  that  we  neither  of  us  think 
any  place  more  agreeable  than  that  where  we  are." 

Lord  Kingston,  who  knew  that  Mr.  Wortley  possessed  a  large 
landed  property,  had  cordially  approved  the  match.  But  when 
the  marriage  contract  and  settlements  came  under  consideration, 
and  Mr.  Wortley,  whose  observation  had  been  drawn  towards  the 
pernicious  effects  of  the  practice  of  entail,  declined  settling  his 
real  estate  upon  his  first  male  child,"  Lord  Kingston  refused  to 
continue  the  negotiation,  declaring  that  he  would  never  see  his 
grandson  a  beggar.  Mr.  Wortley  tartly  rejoined,  that  he  would 
never  blindly  bestow  wealth  upon  one  who  might  be  unworthy 
to  possess  it — who  might  prove  a  spendthrift,  an  idiot,  or  a 
villain.  The  match  was  broken  off,  though  the  lovers  still  corre- 
sponded and  often  met  in  secret.  Lord  Kingston  presented  anoth- 
er suitor  to  his  daughter,  threatening  her  with  imprisonment 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  257 

in  some  remote  place,  and  with  the  pittance  of  £400  a  year 
after  his  death,  if  she  persisted  in  disobeying  his  wishes.  She 
replied  by  letter  that  her  aversion  to  the  man  he  proposed  was 
_  too  great  to  be  overcome  ;  that  she  should  be  miserable  beyond 
belief ;  but  that  she  was  in  his  hands,  and  that  he  might  dispose 
of  her  as  he  thought  fit.  To  her  astonishment,  he  took  this 
answer  as  a  compliance,  and  proceeded  with  the  prehminaries  of 
the  wedding.  Lady  Mary  then  consented  to  a  stolen  interview 
and  a  clandestine  marriage  with  the  man  whom,  against  her  will, 
she  had  leai'ned  to  love.  In  her  letter  appointing  the  time  and 
place  occurs  the  following  passage  : 

"  You  made  no  reply  to  one  part  of  my  letter  concerning  my 
fortune.  I  am  afraid  you  flatter  yourself  that  my  father  may  be 
at  length  reconciled  and  brought  to  reasonable  terms.  I  am 
convinced,  by  what  I  have  often  heard  him  say,  speaking  of 
other  cases  like  this,  that  he  never  will.  Reflect  now  for  the 
last  time  in  what  manner  you  must  take  me.  I  shall  come  to 
you  with  only  a  nightgown  and  petticoat,  and  that  is  all  you  will 
ever  get  by  me.  I  told  a  lady  of  my  friends  what  I  intended  to 
do.  You  will  think  her  a  very  good  friend  when  I  tell  you  she 
proffered  to  lend  us  her  house.  I  did  not  accept  of  this  till  I 
had  let  you  know  it.  If  you  think  it  more  convenient  to  carry 
me  to  your  lodgings,  make  no  scruple  of  it.  Let  it  be  where  it 
will ;  if  I  am  your  wife,  I  shall  think  no  place  unfit  for  me  where 
you  are." 

The  lovers  were  privately  married  by  special  license,  bearing 
date  August  12,  1712,  Lady  Mary  being  in  her  twenty-second 
year.  They  remained  in  the  country  for  three  years,  their  estab- 
lishment being  too  limited  to  permit  a  residence  in  London. 
Upon  the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  in  1714,  they  removed  to  the 
city,  Mr.  Wortley's  previous  political  course  having  marked  him 
as  an  earnest  supporter  of  the  new  administration.  Lady  Mary 
soon  made  her  appearance  at  St.  James's  ;  and  her  beauty, 
elegance  and  vivacity  at  once  secured  for  her  a  foremost  place 

33 


258  LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

in  the  court  of  George  the  First.  The  rival  wits,  Addison  and 
Pope,  professed  and  doubtless  felt  the  deepest  admiration  for 
her  uncommon  genius.  That  of  Pope  ripened  in  after  years  into 
a  more  tender  sentiment  ;  to  the  bitter  malignity  into  which 
her  iudifterence  provoked  him,  we  shall  have  occasion  to  refer 
in  the  proper  place. 

In  June,  1716,  Mr.  Wortley  resigned  his  situation  as  lord  of 
the  treasury,  in  order  to  accept  an  appointment  as  ambassador 
to  the  SubUme  Porte.  His  wife,  whose  deep  attachment  he  was 
far  from  requiting,  resolved  to  accompany  him,  with  her  infant 
son,  and  commenced  in  August  their  arduous  journey  over  the 
continent  of  Europe.  Lady  Montagu  enjoyed  for  a  long  time 
the  reputation  of  being  the  first  Enghshwoman  who  had  had  the 
curiosity  and  spirit  to  visit  the  Levant  ;  but  it  seems  probable 
that  both  Lady  Puget  and  Lady  Winchester  had  visited  Constan- 
tinople before  her.  Pope  wrote  her  a  letter  soon  after  her 
departure,  in  which  he  used  this  language:  "  May  that  person 
for  whom  you  have  left  all  the  world  be  so  just  as  to  prefer  you 
to  all  the  world !  I  believe  his  good  understanding  has  engaged 
him  to  do  so  hitherto,  and  I  think  his  gratitude  must  for  the 
future." 

Lady  Mary's  letters  to  her  friends,  but  principally  to  her 
sister.  Lady  Mar,  describe  in  vivid  colors  the  incidents  and 
episodes  of  the  adventurous  journey.  She  extols  the  cleanliness 
of  Rotterdam,  observing  that  the  Dutch  maids  wash  the  pave- 
ment of  the  street  with  more  industry  than  the  English  maids  do 
the  London  bed-chambers.  She  rhapsodizes  upon  the  romantic 
banks  of  the  Danube,  and  is  amazed  at  the  magnificence  of 
Vienna  and  the  chaste  elegance  of  Schoenbrunn.  The  poverty  of 
Bohemia  and  the  snows  of  Hungary  somewhat  dampen  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  aristocratic  traveller.  Through  Raab,  Buda, 
Belgrade  and  Peterwaradin,  she  pushes  on  to  Adrianople.  Her 
first  letter,  written  at  this  point,  was  addressed  to  her  Royal 
Highness  the  Princess  of  Wales  ;  her  second,  to  Lady  Rich,  a 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  259 

member  of  the  princess'  household,  is  one  of  the  most  famous  in 
her  pubhshed  correspondence,  from  the  discussions  to  which  it 
gave  rise.  As  Lady  Montagu's  chxim  to  hterary  distinction 
rests  upon  her  epistolary  merit,  we  shall  not  hesitate  to  quote 
largely  from  the  descriptive  portions  of  her  letters.  The  follow- 
ing is  her  account  of  a  visit  to  the  bagnio  at  Sophia,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  towns  in  the  Turkish  empire,  and  famous  for  its 
hot  baths.     After  mentioning  the  hall  of  entrance,  she  says  : 

"  The  next  room  is  a  very  large  one,  paved  with  marble,  and 
all  round  it  are  two  raised  sofas  of  marble,  one  above  another. 
There  were  four  fountains  of  cold  water  in  this  room,  falling  first 
into  marble  basins,  and  then  running  on  the  floor  in  little  chan- 
nels made  for  that  purpose,  which  carried  the  streams  into  the 
next  room,  something  less  than  this,  with  the  same  sort  of  marble 
sofas,  but  so  hot  with  steams  of  sulphur  proceeding  from  the 
baths  joining  to  it,  it  was  impossible  to  stay  there  with  one's 
clothes  on.  .  .  .  The  first  sofas  were  covered  with  cushions  and 
rich  carpets,  on  which  sat  the  ladies  ;  and  on  the  second  their 
slaves,  behind  them,  but  without  any  distinction  of  rank  by  their 
dress,  all  being  in  the  state  of  nature,  that  is,  in  plain  English, 
stark  naked,  without  any  beauty  or  defect  concealed.  Yet  there 
was  not  the  least  wanton  smile  or  immodest  gesture  among  them. 
They  walked  and  moved  with  the  same  majestic  grace  which 
Milton  describes  our  general  mother  with.  There  were  many 
among  them  as  exactly  proportioned  as  ever  any  goddess  was 
drawn  by  the  pencil  of  a  Guido  or  a  Titian,  and  most  of  their 
skins  shiningly  white,  only  adorned  by  their  beautiful  hair, 
divided  into  many  tresses,  hanging  on  their  shoulders,  braided 
either  with  pearls  or  ribbons,  perfectly  representing  the  figures 
of  the  Graces. 

"I  was  here  convinced  of  the  truth  of  a  reflection  I  have 
often  made,  that  if  it  were  the  fashion  to  go  naked,  the  face 
would  be  hardly  observed.  I  perceived  that  the  ladies  of  the 
most  delicate  skins  and  finest  shapes  had  the  greatest  share  of 


260  LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

my  admiration,  though  their  faces  were  sometimes  less  beautiful 
than  those  of  their  companions.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  had  the 
wickedness  to  wish  secretly  that  Mr.  Jervas  could  have  been 
there  invisible.  I  fancy  it  would  have  very  much  improved  his 
art,  to  see  so  many  fine  women  naked,  in  different  postures, 
some  in  conversation,  some  working,  others  drinking  coffee  or 
sherbet,  and  many  negligently  lying  on  their  cushions,  while 
their  slaves — generally  pretty  girls  of  seventeen  or  eighteen — 
were  employed  in  braiding  their  hair  in  several  pretty  fancies. 
In  short,  it  is  the  women's  coffee-house,  where  all  the  news  of 
the  town  is  told,  scandal  invented,  etc.  They  generally  take  this 
diversion  once  a  week,  and  stay  there  at  least  four  or  five  hours, 
without  taking  cold  by  immediately  coming  out  of  the  hot  bath 
into  the  cold  room,  which  was  very  surprising  to  me.  The  lady 
that  seemed  the  most  considerable  among  them  entreated  me  to 
sit  by  her,  and  would  fain  have  undressed  me  for  the  bath.  I 
excused  myself  with  some  difficulty.  They  being,  however,  all  so 
earnest  in  persuading  me,  I  was  at  last  forced  to  open  my  shirt 
and  show  them  my  stays,  which  satisfied  them  very  well ;  for  I 
saw  they  believed  I  was  locked  up  in  that  machine,  and  that  it 
was  not  in  my  own  power  to  open  it,  which  contrivance  they 
attributed  to  my  husband. 

"Adieu,  madam;  I  am  sure  I  have  now  entertained  you  with 
an  account  of  such  a  sight  as  you  never  saw  in  your  life,  and 
what  no  book  of  travels  could  inform  you  of,  as  it  is  no  less  than 
death  for  a  man  to  be  found  in  one  of  these  places." 

Mr.  Wortley  remained  two  months  at  Adrianople,  whither  the 
Sultan  Achmet  III.  had  removed  his  court  from  the  capital  of 
the  empire.  The  letters  of  Lady  Mary  give  lively  pictures  of 
the  domestic  manners  and  official  ceremonies  of  the  Turks.  She 
even  obtained  admission  to  the  seraglio,  and  her  pages  devoted 
to  this  visit  actually  glow  with  the  ardor  of  her  admiration  of 
the  lovely  Fatima.  She  adopted  the  Turkish  dress  and  wrote  to 
her  sister  that  it  was  admirably  becoming — consisting  as  it  did 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  261 

of  a  pair  of  thin,  rose-colored  damask  drawers,  very  full  and 
reaching  to  the  shoes  ;  of  a  fine  white  silk  gauze  smock,  with 
wide  shirt  sleeves,  and  closed  at  the  neck  with  a  diamond  button, 
but  "through  which  the  shape  and  color  of  the  bosom  are  very 
weU  to  be  distinguished  ;"  of  a  tight-fitting  waistcoat  of  white 
damask,  fringed  with  gold  and  fastened  with  diamond  buttons  ; 
of  a  girdle,  four  fingers  broad,  made  of  exquisite  embroidery  on 
satin,  and  fastened  in  front  with  a  clasp  of  diamonds.  Her 
head-dress  was  a  talpock,  a  cap  of  light  shining  silver  cloth, 
jauntily  fixed  on  one  side  of  the  head.  In  this  dress,  which 
she  found  a  very  effective  disguise,  she  visited  many  places  of 
interest  incognita,  jostling  janizaries  in  the  bazaars  and  drinking 
sherbet  at  the  camp. 

On  her  arrival  at  Constantinople,  and  after  giving  birth  to  a 
daughter,  she  devoted  herself  to  the  study  of  the  language,  under 
the  direction  of  one  of  Mr.  Wortley's  dragomans.  She  was 
already  a  proficient  in  French  and  Italian,  and  had  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  German,  so  that,  as  she  was  compelled  to  speak 
all  these  and  Turkish  besides,  she  felt  herself  in  danger  of  losing 
her  English.  "I  live  in  a  place,"  she  says,  "that  very  well 
represents  the  Tower  of  Babel :  my  grooms  are  Arabs  ;  my  foot- 
men, French,  English  and  Germans  ;  my  nurse,  an  Armenian  ; 
my  housemaids,  Russians  ;  half  a  dozen  other  servants,  Greeks  ; 
my  steward,  an  Italian  ;  my  janizaries,  Turks  ;  so  that  I  live  in 
the  perpetual  hearing  of  this  medley  of  sounds,  which  produces 
an  extraordinary  effect  upon  the  people  that  are  born  here  ;  for 
they  learn  all  these  languages  at  the  same  time,  and  without 
knowing  any  one  of  them  well  enough  to  read  or  write  in  it. 
There  are  very  few  men,  women,  or  even  children  here,  that  do 
not  have  the  same  compass  of  words  in  five  or  six  of  them.  As  I 
prefer  English  to  all  the  rest,  I  am  extremely  mortified  at  the 
daily  decay  of  it  in  my  head,  where,  I'll  assure  you,  with  grief 
of  heart,  it  is  reduced  to  such  a  small  number  of  words,  I  cannot 
recollect  any  tolerable  phrase  to  conclude  my  letter  with,  and 


262     LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

am  forced  to  tell  your  ladyship  very  bluntly,  that  I  am  yours, 
etc." 

During  the  heat  of  the  summer  months,  it  was  the  custom 
of  the  European  embassies  to  withdraw  to  the  various  villas 
situated  upon  the  borders  of  the  Bosphorus.  Lady  Montagu 
chose  the  delightful  retreat  of  Belgrade  village,  about  fourteen 
miles  from  the  capital.  In  the  deep  glades  and  charming  forest 
scenery  of  this  spot,  she  spent  the  season  of  1717,  and  a  portion 
of  that  of  1718.  It  was  here  that  occurred  the  incident  to  which 
she  owes  her  fame,  even  more  than  to  her  literary  excellence. 
She  observed  the  prevalence  of  a  custom  which  was  called 
ingrafting — now  known  as  inoculation — which  consisted  of  the 
introduction,  into  the  blood  of  a  patient,  of  matter  taken  from  a 
small  pox  pustule — a  process  which  invariably  produced  a  milder 
form  of  the  disease  than  if  taken  in  the  natural  way.  She 
examined  the  subject  with  philosophical  curiosity,  and  in  the 
following  graphic  letter  gives  the  result  of  her  observations  : 

"  Bklgradk,  Ap.  1,  O.  S.  1717. 
"  Apropos  of  distempers,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  of  a  thing 
that  wiU  make  you  wish  yourself  here.  The  small  pox,  so  fatal 
and  so  general  amongst  us,  is  here  entirely  harmless,  by  the 
invention  of  ingrafting,  which  is  the  term  they  give  it.  There  is 
a  set  of  old  women  who  make  it  their  business  to  perform  the 
operation  eveiy  autumn,  in  the  month  of  September,  when  the 
great  heat  is  abated.  People  send  to  one  another  to  know  if 
any  of  their  family  has  a  mind  to  have  the  small  pox  ;  they 
make  parties  for  this  purpose,  and  when  they  are  met — com- 
monly fifteen  or  sixteen  together — the  old  woman  comes  with 
a  nut-shell  full  of  the  matter  of  the  best  sort  of  small  pox, 
and  asks  what  vein  you  please  to  have  opened.  She  immediately 
rips  open  that  which  you  offer  to  her,  with  a  large  needle — 
which  gives  you  no  more  pain  than  a  common  scratch— and 
puts  into  the  vein  as  much  matter  as  will  lie  upon  the  head 


LADY  MAKY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.     263 

of  her  needle,  and  after  that,  binds  up  the  Uttle  wound  with 
a  hollow  bit  of  shell ;  and  in  this  manner  opens  four  or  five 
veins.  The  Grecians  have  commonly  the  superstition  of  opening 
one  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  one  in  each  arm  and  one 
on  the  breast,  to  mark  the  sign  of  the  cross  ;  but  this  has  a  very 
ill  effect,  all  these  wounds  leaving  httle  scars,  and  is  not  done  by 
those  who  are  not  superstitious,  who  choose  to  have  them  in  the 
legs  or  that  part  of  the  arm  that  is  concealed. 

"The  children  or  young  patients  play  together  all  the  rest 
of  the  day  and  are  in  perfect  health  to  the  eighth.  Then  the 
fever  begins  to  seize  them,  and  they  keep  their  beds  two  days, 
very  seldom  three.  They  have  very  rarely  above  twenty  or 
thirty  in  their  faces,  which  never  mark  ;  and  in  eight  days'  time 
they  are  as  well  as  befoi'e  their  ilhiess.  Where  they  are 
wounded,  there  remain  running  sores  during  the  distemper, 
which  I  don't  doubt  is  a  great  relief  to  it.  Every  year  thousands 
undergo  this  operation  ;  and  the  French  ambassador  says  plea- 
santly, that  they  take  the  small  pox  here  by  way  of  diversion,  as 
they  take  the  waters  in  other  countries.  There  is  no  example 
of  any  one  that  has  died  in  it ;  and  you  may  believe  I  am 
weU  satisfied  of  the  safety  of  this  experiment,  since  I  intend 
to  try  it  upon  mj^  dear  little  son. 

"  I  am  patriot  enough  to  take  pains  to  bring  this  useful 
invention  into  fashion  in  England  ;  and  I  should  not  fail  to  write 
to  some  of  our  doctors  very  particularly  about  it,  if  I  knew 
any  one  of  them  that  I  thought  had  virtue  enough  to  destroy 
such  a  considerable  branch  of  revenue  for  the  good  of  mankind. 
But  that  distemper  is  too  beneficial  to  them,  not  to  expose  to  all 
their  resentment  the  hardy  wight  that  should  undertake  to  put 
an  end  to  it.  Perhaps,  if  I  should  live  to  return,  I  may,  how- 
ever, have  courage  to  war  with  them.  Upon  this  occasion, 
admire  the  heroism  in  the  heart  of  your  friend,  etc." 

She  kept  her  word  in  regard  to  a  trial  of  the  process  upon 


264      LADY  MARY  WORT  LEY  MONTAGU. 

her  son.     She  chronicles  her  success  in  a  letter  from  Belgrade  to 
Mr.  Wortley  at  Pera,  nearly  a  year  afterwards  : 

"March  23,  1718. 

"  Ye  Boy  was  engrafted  last  Tusday,  and  is  at  ys  time  sing- 
ing and  playing  and  very  impatient  for  his  supper.     I  pray  God 

my  next  may  give  as  good  an  Account  of  him I  cannot 

engraft  ye  girl ;  her  nm-se  has  not  had  ye  small  Pox." 

Mr.  Wortley  was  recalled  late  in  the  year  1717,  his  embassy 
having  failed  through  causes  which  it  would  be  useless  to  detail 
here.  He  did  not  start  upon  his  return  tiU  June  of  the  following 
year.  He  and  his  family  pursued  their  way  through  the  Archi- 
pelago, of  which  Lady  Mai-y  wrote  admirable  descriptions  in 
prose,  commencing  with  the  following  proem  in  verse  : 

"  Warm'd  with  poetic  transport,  I  survey 
The  immortal  islands  and  tlie  well-known  sea; 
For  here  so  oft  the  muse  her  harp  has  strung, 
That  not  a  mountain  rears  its  head  unsung." 

They  landed  at  Tunis  and  thence  crossed  the  Mediterranean 
to  Genoa.  They  then  proceeded  to  England  through  Turin, 
Lyons  and  Paris,  Lady  Mary  dispatching  numerous  letters  from 
every  point  to  friends  at  home.  They  arrived  late  in  October, 
1718.  Lady  Mary  was  received  with  great  favor  by  the  Princess 
of  Wales,  afterwards  Queen  Caroline,  and  she  at  once  resumed  at 
court  the  position  she  had  left,  adding  to  her  previous  reputation 
as  a  wit  and  a  beauty,  that  of  a  philosophical  traveller  and  an 
observant  inquirer.  She  was  induced  by  Pope  to  fix  her  resi- 
dence in  the  celebrated  village  of  Twickenham,  where  for  a  time 
the  two  rivals  continued  to  live  in  harmony  and  mutual  esteem. 
She  speculated  deeply  in  South  Sea  stock,  and  was  in  the  receipt 
of  letters  from  the  Secretary  of  State  promising  her  further 
investments  in  the  seductive  scrip,  and  from  Mr.  Pope,  advising 


LADY    MARY    WORTLBY    MONTAGU.  265 

her  to  buy,  as  "he  is  informed  from  the  first  and  best  hands  that 
it  will  be  a  certain  gain."  She  sat  for  her  portrait  to  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller,  Pope  being  present  at  the  sittings,  and,  when  the 
picture  was  finished,  writing  an  impromptu  sonnet  to  the  beauti- 
ful original  upon  the  cover  of  her  manuscript  book  of  letters. 

Lady  Mary  now  resolved  to  devote  herself  to  the  propagation, 
in  her  native  land,  of  the  Byzantine  process  of  inoculation.  We 
have  said  that  the  operation  had  not  yet  been  performed  upon 
her  daughter  ;  this  child  was  fortunately  reserved  to  be  the  first 
example  of  inoculation  in  England.  After  interesting  the  royal 
family  in  the  subject,  she  caused  the  little  Mary  to  be  ingrafted 
with  matter  taken  from  a  dying  patient,  by  Dr.  Maitland,  who 
had  been  the  physician  to  the  embassy  in  Turkey.  No  evil 
consequences  followed,  and  the  result,  proving  that  the  success 
of  the  experiment  was  in  no  manner  connected  with  climate 
or  other  variable  influences,  encouraged  Lady  Montagu  to 
persevere  in  her  beneficent  purpose.  Dr.  Maitland's  second 
operation  was  performed  one  month  afterwards,  upon  a  son  of 
Dr.  Keith,  and  was  eminently  successful.  But  the  public  now 
began  to  view  the  innovation  with  suspicion  and  dread,  and  three 
months  elapsed  before  another  trial  was  made.  The  Princess 
Anne  was  taken  dangerously  ill  with  the  small  pox,  and  the 
Princess  Carohne,  her  mother,  wishing  to  secure  her  other 
children  from  the  infection,  but  not  yet  daring  to  subject  them 
to  the  ordeal,  begged  the  lives  of  six  condemned  criminals, 
who  were  promised  the  royal  pardon,  if,  after  inoculation,  they 
escaped  death  by  the  disease.  They  were  ingrafted  by  Dr.  Mait- 
land on  the  9th  of  August,  and  were  set  at  liberty  upon  their 
recovery  from  the  mild  distemper  which  ensued.  One  of  them, 
indeed,  who  had  had  the  small  pox  in  his  youth,  was  not  affected 
at  all,  and  this  new  illustration  of  the  operation  of  the  system 
was  considered  sufficiently  interesting  to  counterbalance  the 
easy  escape  of  the  criminal.  In  April,  1722,  eleven  charity- 
children  of  the  parish  of  St.  James  were  successfully  ingrafted, 

34 


266     LADY  MAKY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.   - 

and  the  Princess  of  Wales,  at  last  convinced  of  the  entire  safety 
of  the  process,  caused  her  daughters  Amelia  and  Carohna  to 
undergo  the  operation.  Sustained  by  this  illustrious  example, 
ingrafting  made  rapid  progress  throughout  the  kingdom.  At 
last  a  death  occurred,  then  another,  and  finally  a  third.  This 
made  three  deaths  out  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  inocu- 
lations, or  one  in  sixty,  whereas  the  proportion  of  mortality, 
in  cases  of  the  small  pox  communicated  naturally,  had  usually 
been  one  in  six. 

The  medical  profession  and  the  clergy  now  rose  in  unanimous 
reprobation  of  the  practice,  and  Lady  Montagu's  beneficent 
exertions  were  treated  as  the  crazy  efforts  of  a  woman  whose 
head  had  been  turned  by  a  long  residence  in  a  barbarous  land. 
The  i^rincipal  medical  objections  were  the  following :  that  as 
inoculation  did  not  induce  the  veritable  small  pox,  it  could  not 
secure  the  patient  from  having  it — an  argument  which  was  satis- 
factorily answered  by  sending  one  of  the  inoculated  and  recovered 
Newgate  prisoners  to  Hertford,  where  the  small  pox  was  raging, 
and  keeping  him  in  bed  ten  days  with  a  man  grievously  afilicted 
by  the  distemper,  without  his  being  in  the  slightest  degree 
affected  ;  that  inoculation  might  induce  other  diseases,  should 
the  variolous  matter  be  taken  from  unhealthy  subjects— a  state- 
ment which  the  records  of  the  hospitals  amply  disproved  ;  and 
that  it  was  folly  purposely  to  have  a  disease  which  one  was  not 
at  all  sure  to  have  even  by  accident — a  frivolous  piece  of  reason- 
ing, sufficiently  answered  by  the  fact  that  the  small  pox  carried 
off  two  million  victims  annually  in  Russia  alone,  and  that  it  was 
invariably  fatal  in  England  in  two  cases  out  of  eleven. 

But  the  medical  objections  thus  raised  did  not  operate  so 
powerfidly  upon  the  public  mind  as  the  moral  and  rehgious 
arguments  adduced  by  the  prejudices  and  bigotry  of  the  age. 
The  idea  of  bringing  diseases  upon  oneself  was  denounced  as  "  a 
Circassian  impiety."  Lady  Montagu  was  stigmatized  from  the 
pulpit  as  a  poisoner  and  a  murderess,  instigated  by  quackery, 


LADY  MAEY  WOETLEY  MONTAGU.     267 

atheism  and  avarice.  The  author  of  an  anonymous  pamphlet 
invoked  the  interference  of  parhament  against  a  system  by  which 
' '  every  quack  may  now  be  a  hirehug  of  the  devil,  and  like  the 
banditti  in  Italy,  be  ready  to  do  the  drudgery  of  removing  lives, 
under  the  mask  of  a  cure,  inoculating  death  instead  of  a  disease." 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Massey  preached  a  sermon  from  the  second  chapter 
of  Job,  in  which  he  represented  the  boils  upon  the  body  of  that 
afflicted  personage  as  the  result  of  an  inoculation  performed 
upon  him  by  the  devil.  This  assertion  of  the  whimsical  divine 
was  turned  against  him  by  an  epigrammatist,  who  maintained 
that  Job  was  much  benefited  by  the  operation  ;  as  thus  : 

"We're  told  by  one  of  the  black  robe 
The  Devil  inoculated  Job ; 
Suppose  'tis  true  what  he  does  tell, 
Pray,  neighbor,  did  not  Job  do  well?" 

Another  divine  asserted  that  it  had  never  yet  come  into  men's 
minds  to  take  the  work  out  of  nature's  hands,  and  raise  diseases 
by  art  in  the  human  body.  To  this  Dr.  Maitland  replied  that 
the  practice  of  physic  was  founded  upon  the  principle  of  curing 
natural  by  raising  artificial  diseases,  and  asked  if  bleeding  was 
not  an  artificial  hemorrhage,  and  purging  an  artificial  dysentery. 
The  epigrammatists  on  the  other  side  pursued  the  same  argu- 
ment in  this  wise  :  "What,  sir,  may  I  ask,  is  correction  at  the 
cart's  tail,  but  the  noble  art  of  muscular  phlebotomy  ?  What  is 
breaking  on  the  wheel,  but  the  art  of  making  dislocations  and 
fractures,  and  differs  from  the  wounds  and  amputations  only  by 
the  manner  and  intention  ?" 

Other  theological  arguments  were,  that  the  voluntary  taking 
of  a  disease  was  a  usurpation  of  the  sacred  prerogative  of  God  : 
that  we  ought  not  to  do  evil,  that  good  may  come  of  it ;  that 
fear  was  a  dangerous  element  in  the  small  pox,  and  that  inocu- 
lation increased  the  causes  of  fear,  by  lessening  our  faith  and 
trust  in  Providence.     These  allegations  were  in  turn  denied  and 


268      LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

refuted,  and  for  years  the  warfare  was  waged  with  great  acri- 
mony and  virulence.  Common  sense  at  last  prevailed,  and  the 
"  Circassian  impiety"  spread  throughout  the  civilized  world.  As 
early  as  the  summer  of  1723,  Lady  Montagu  wrote  :  "  Lady 
Byng  has  inoculated  both  her  children  ;  the  operation  is  not  yet 
over,  but  I  beheve  they  will  do  very  well.  Since  that  experi- 
ment has  not  had  any  ill  effect,  the  whole  town  are  doing  the 
same  thing,  and  I  am  so  much  pulled  about,  and  solicited  to  visit 
people,  that  I  am  forced  to  run  into  the  country  to  hide  myself." 
Somewhat  later  she  wrote:  "I  know  nobody  who  has  hitherto 
repented  the  operation,  though  it  has  been  very  troublesome  to 
some  fools,  who  had  rather  be  sick  by  the  doctor's  prescription 
than  in  health  in  rebellion  to  the  college."  Still,  such  had  been 
the  annoyances  endured  by  her  in  her  beneficent  crusade,  that 
she  afterwards  admitted  that  "if  she  had  foreseen  the  persecution 
and  obloquy  she  was  to  endure,  she  would  not  have  attempted 
to  introduce  inoculation."  She,  nevertheless,  lived  to  see  herself 
ranked  as  a  benefactress,  and  to  read  in  statistical  journals  cal- 
culations by  which  she  was  proved  to  have  saved  139,652  lives 
out  of  every  million  inhabitants  in  the  kingdom.  Steele's  Plain 
Dealer  thus  eulogized  her  in  1724 :  "It  is  an  observation  of  some 
historian  that  England  has  owed  to  women  the  greatest  blessings 
she  has  been  distinguished  by.  In  the  case  we  are  now  upon, 
this  reflection  will  stand  justified.  We  are  indebted  to  the  reason 
and  the  courage  of  a  lady  for  the  introduction  of  this  art,  which 
gains  such  strength  in  its  progress,  that  the  memory  of  its  illus- 
trious foundress  will  be  rendered  sacred  by  it  to  future  ages — a 
good  so  lasting  and  vast,  that  none  of  those  wide  endowments 
and  deep  foundations  of  public  charity  which  have  made  so  much 
noise  in  the  world  deserve  at  all  to  be  compared  with  it." 

For  three-quarters  of  a  century,  inoculation  continued  to  be 
practised  in  Europe  and  America,  as  a  means  of  modifying  and 
rendering  harmless  a  disease  to  which  all  were  subject,  from 
which  none  could  declare  themselves  exempt,  and  which,  when  it 


LADY  MARY  WOETLEY  MONTAGU      269 

did  not  destroy  the  patient,  usually  left  him  mutilated  and  dis- 
figured. Lady  Montagu  prepared  the  public,  in  a  measure,  for 
Jenner's  more  valuable  process,  that  of  vaccination,  which,  instead 
of  being  an  amelioration,  was  a  prevention.  He  met  with  vexa- 
tious and  discouraging  opposition,  certainly,  but  whether  his  final 
success  would  have  been  as  speedy  or  as  complete  had  not  Lady 
Mary  battled  with  similar  prejudices  before  him,  may  very  well 
be  matter  of  doubt. 

The  quarrel  of  Lady  Montagu  with  Pope  was  the  nest  promi- 
nent event  in  her  life.  The  poet  had  sought  for  a  time  to  render 
her  the  one  bright  feature  in  the  society  which  thronged  his  villa. 
Upon  the  accession  of  George  II.,  her  political  sentiments  attract- 
ed her  towards  Sir  Robert  Walpole  and  Lord  Hervey,  while 
Pope's  proclivities  drew  him  towards  Bolingbroke  and  Swift.  He 
had  noticed  too,  with  jealous  dissatisfaction,  that  the  preeminent 
position  which  he  had  wished  her  to  hold,  through  his  patronage 
and  as  an  effect  of  his  public  and  acknowledged  admiration,  she 
had  obtained,  and  was  able  to  maintain,  by  her  own  merits  and 
as  a  tribute  to  her  genius  and  humanity.  Illiberal  and  malicious 
by  nature,  the  great  poet  could  not  brook  this  competition,  and 
levelled  all  his  sarcasm,  both  in  conversation  and  in  verse,  at  the 
brilUant  and  independent  beauty.  She  retorted  vigorously,  and 
the  town  was  divided  by  their  quarrel  into  two  hostile  and 
aggressive  parties.  Pope's  invectives  often  passed  the  limits  of 
propriety,  and  when  called  upon  to  explain  or  retract,  he  suc- 
ceeded by  adroit  prevarication  in  evading  every  direct  charge. 
Warburton,  Warton  and  Dr.  Johnson  concur  in  condemning  his 
conduct,  the  former,  his  most  zealous  panegyrist,  confessing  that 
"there  were  allegations  against  him  which  he  was  not  quite  clear 
of."  The  present  age,  knowing  little  of  the  bard  of  Twickenham 
but  through  the  works  which  he  has  consigned  to  immortality, 
cannot  readily  conceive  to  what  excesses  of  malignity  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  carried  in  this  affair.  But,  as  one  of  the  biographers 
of  Lady  Montagu  has  aptly  remarked,  "  time  has  annihilated  their 


270  LADY     MARY    WORTLEY     MONTAGU. 

animosities,  and  the  controversy  may  now  be  dispassionately 
viewed.  How  much  a  character  may  suffer  under  the  authority 
of  a  great  name  !  The  magic  of  Pope's  numbers  makes  us 
unwilling  to  know  that  they  were  not  always  the  vehicle  of 
truth." 

The  life  of  Lady  Mary,  from  this  period  till  the  year  1739, 
offers  few  sahent  points  worthy  of  biographical  notice.  She 
revolved  in  the  circles  of  fashion  and  literature,  her  influence 
naturally  attracting  about  her  the  best  authors  of  the  day.  She 
suggested  an  alteration  in  the  fourth  act  of  Young's  "  Brothers," 
which  he  readily  made  ;  another  which  she  advised  proved  im- 
practicable, and  Young  requested  her  to  make  a  secret  of  the 
flaw,  that  he  might  try  an  experiment  on  the  sagacity  of  the 
town  ;  adding,  that  the  players  were  fond  of  it,  and  "  si  populus 
vult  decipi,  decipiatur."  She  was  always  a  sincere  friend  to 
Fielding,  her  cousin,  who  dedicated  to  her  his  first  comedy  of 
"Love  in  Several  Masks." 

In  1739,  her  health  seriously  declined,  though  her  disease, 
cancer,  was  in  its  incipient  stages.  She  resolved  to  visit  Italy, 
and  bade  a  long  adieu  to  her  daughter,  by  marriage  Lady  Bute, 
and  to  her  husband,  who  promised  to  rejoin  her,  but  whom  she 
never  met  again.  She  abandoned  without  regret  the  gay  and 
absorbing  scenes  of  a  London  fashionable  life.  She  travelled  for 
several  years  through  France,  Italy  and  Switzerland,  consenting 
in  1743,  to  meet  her  reprobate  son,  under  a  feigned  name,  at 
Valence  in  France.  This  young  man  was  already  notorious  as  one 
of  the  most  eccentric,  dissipated  and  worthless  of  British  subjects. 
He  had  requested  the  interview  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  his 
mother,  if  possible,  to  persuade  her  husband  to  settle  his  estate 
upon  him — this  being  optional  with  the  father,  by  his  refusal  to 
entail  his  property,  on  the  ground,  as  he  had  himself  expressed 
it,  that  his  eldest  son  might  be  either  a  spendthrift,  an  idiot,  or  a 
villain.  The  event  showed  the  wisdom  of  his  conduct,  as  these 
three   characteristics   were   combined   in   happy  proportions   in 


LADY    MAEY    WOETLEY    MONTAGU.  271 

young  Mr.  Montagu's  character.  He  left  his  mother,  promising 
amendment  and  an  economical  hfe,  and  immediately  repaired 
to  Mont^limar,  "  where  he  behaved  himself  with  as  much 
vanity  and  indiscretion  as  ever." 

Having  been  invited  to  visit  Louvbre,  on  the  banks  of  Lake 
Isco,  in  the  Venetian  territory,  she  fixed  her  summer  residence 
there,  taking  possession  of  a  deserted  palace,  laying  out  a  garden, 
and  devoting  herself  to  the  avocations  and  pleasures  of  a  country 
life.  She  superintended  her  vineyards,  and  was  happy  in  the 
society  of  bees  and  silkworms.  Her  daughter  sent  her  constant 
supplies  of  books  from  London,  to  read  all  of  which  she  said 
it  would  be  necessary  for  her  to  hire  relays  of  eyes  like  pos- 
tillions. The  letters  written  during  this  period  to  the  Countess 
of  Bute,  exhibit  her  character  in  the  most  agreeable  light,  and 
while  they  show  that  she  sincerely  enjoyed  her  retirement 
from  the  world,  prove  how  closely  domestic  ties  still  bound 
her  to  society,  and  that  aifection  for  her  daughter  and  her 
family  was  still  the  dearest  sentiment  of  her  heart.  Her  passion 
for  reading,  and  the  extent  to  which  she  indulged  it,  drew  upon 
her  the  mild  rejiroaches  of  the  countess,  to  which  she  made  the 
following  reply  : 

"Daughter!  daughter!  don't  call  names;  you  are  always 
abusing  my  pleasures,  which  is  what  no  mortal  will  bear. 
Trash,  lumber,  sad  stuflf,  are  the  titles  you  give  to  my  favorite 
amusement.  We  ha,ve  all  our  playthings  ;  happy  are  they 
who  can  be  contented  with  those  they  can  obtain.  Those  hours 
are  spent  in  the  wisest  manner  that  can  easiest  shade  the  ills  of 
life,  and  are  the  least  productive  of  ill  consequences.  The  active 
scenes  are  over  at  my  age.  I  indulge  with  all  the  art  I  can,  my 
taste  for  reading.  If  I  would  confine  it  to  valuable  books,  they 
are  almost  as  rare  as  valuable  men.  I  must  be  content  with 
what  I  can  find.  As  I  approach  a  second  childhood,  I  endeavor 
to  enter  into  the  pleasures  of  it.  Your  youngest  son  is  perhaps 
at  this  very  moment  riding  on  a  poker,  with  great  delight,  not  at 


272  LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

all  regretting  that  it  is  not  a  gold  one,  and  much  less  wishing  it 
an  Arabian  horse,  which  he  could  not  know  how  to  manage.  I 
am  reading  an  idle  tale  without  wit  or  truth  in  it,  and  am  very 
glad  it  is  not  metaphysics  to  puzzle  my  judgment,  or  history 
to  mislead  my  opinion.  He  fortifies  his  health  by  exercise  ; 
I  calm  my  cares  by  oblivion.  The  methods  may  appear  low  to 
busy  people  ;  but  if  he  improves  his  strength,  and  I  forget 
my  infirmities,  we  both  attain  very  desirable  ends." 

In  1758,  Lady  Montagu  abandoned  her  solitude  and  estab- 
hshed  herself  at  Venice.  She  here  saw  a  great  deal  of  company, 
receiving  such  persons  as  she  believed  visited  her  out  of  curiosity 
merely,  in  a  mask  and  domino,  as  her  dress  of  ceremony.  She 
became  indifferent  to  her  personal  appearance,  and  wrote  thus  of 
her  looks  :  "  I  know  nothing  about  the  matter,  as  it  is  now 
eleven  years  since  I  have  seen  my  figure  in  a  glass,  and  the 
last  reflection  I  saw  there  was  so  disagreeable,  that  I  resolved  to 
spare  myself  the  mortification  in  future  ;"  adding,  in  regard  to 
her  health,  "It  is  so  often  impaired,  that  I  begin  to  be  as  weary 
of  it  as  mending  old  lace  ;  when  it  is  patched  in  one  place,  it 
breaks  out  in  another."  Upon  the  death  of  Mr.  Wortley,  in 
1761,  she  returned  to  England,  at  the  urgent  sohcitation  of  her 
daughter,  after  an  absence  of  twenty-two  years.  Her  health  had 
already  seriously  declined,  and  the  progress  of  her  disease  was 
violently  accelerated  by  this  abrupt  change  of  chmate.  She  died 
on  the  21st  of  August,  1762,  in  the  seventy-third  year  of  her  age, 
remembered  and  lamented  by  such  of  her  own  generation  as 
survived  her,  but  little  known  to  a  city  from  which  her  long 
residence  abroad  had  totally  estranged  her. 

The  first  publication  of  her  letters  took  place  the  following 
year  under  very  singular  circumstances.  She  had  employed  a 
portion  of  her  leisure  during  the  latter  years  of  her  life  in 
making  copies  of  the  letters  she  had  written  during  Mr.  Wortley's 
embassy,  in  two  quarto  volumes.  While  travelling  to  England, 
in  1761,  she  gave  these  books  to  a  clergyman  at  Rotterdam 


LADY  MARY  WOETLEY  MONTAGU      273 

named  Sowden,  to  be  disposed  of  as  he  thought  proper.  Upon 
the  death  of  Lady  Montagu,  her  son-in-h^w,  the  Earl  of 
Bute,  bought  them  from  Mr.  Sowden  for  the  sum  of  £500,  and 
had  them  transferred  to   Loudon.     No  sooner  was  this  done, 

however,   than   three   volumes   of   "Letters   of  Lady   M y 

W y  M u,"  appeared,  published  by  Beckett  and  edited 

by  the  notorious  Captain  Cleland.  Mr.  Sowden,  being  applied 
to  for  an  explanation,  stated  that  some  weeks  before  he  parted 
with  the  manuscripts,  two  English  gentlemen  had  visited  him 
and  obtained  his  permission  to  look  over  the  volumes.  He  was 
called  away  during  their  stay,  and  on  his  return  found  that  both 
books  and  visitors  had  disappeared.  The  manuscripts  were 
returned  the  next  day,  with  profuse  apologies  on  the  part  of 
the  gentlemen,  who  made  sundi-y  awkward  attempts  to  account 
for  their  mysterious  conduct.  Tlie  subsequent  publication  of  the 
letters  convinced  Mr.  Sowden  and  Lord  Bute  that  the  intervening 
night  had  been  spent  by  an  army  of  amanuenses  in  transcribing 
the  contents  of  the  volumes  at  the  expense  of  Mr.  Beckett. 

In  spite  of  the  questionable  shape  in  which  they  were  thus 
given  to  the  public,  no  one  doubted  their  authenticity.  Smollett, 
then  proprietor  and  conductor  of  the  Critical  Review,  thus  bears 
testimony  to  tJieir  merit :  "The  publication  of  these  letters  will 
be  an  immortal  monument  to  the  memory  of  Lady  M.  W.  M.,  and 
will  shew,  as  long  as  the  English  language  endures,  the  sprightli- 
ness  of  her  wit,  the  solidity  of  her  judgment,  the  elegance  of  her 
taste,  and  the  excellence  of  her  real  character.  These  letters  are 
so  bewitchingly  entertaining,  that  we  defy  the  most  phlegmatic 
man  on  earth  to  read  one  without  going  through  with  them,  or 
after  finishnig  the  third  volume,  not  to  wish  there  were  twenty 
more  of  them."  Lady  Mary  herself  seems  to  have  held  a  similar 
opinion  at  an  early  date,  and  indeed  to  have  anticipated  publi- 
cation, for  she  wrote  thus  in  1724  to  Lady  Mar:  "The  last 
pleasure  that  fell  in  my  way  was  Madame  de  Sevign^'s  letters  ; 
very  pretty  they  are,  but  I  assert  without  the  least  vanity,  mine 

35 


274  LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU. 

will  be  full  as  entertaining  forty  years  hence.  I  advise  you, 
therefore,  to  put  none  of  them  to  the  use  of  waste-pajDer." 
Other  more  complete  editions  have  since  been  published,  under 
the  auspices  of  Lady  Mary's  relatives.  Her  letters  have  taken 
their  place  in  English  literature  as  models  of  epistolary  compo- 
sition, and  it  woidd  be  difficult  to  decide  in  what  branch  of 
her  delightful  art  the  writer  most  excelled,  whether  in  lively 
descriptions,  in  natural  and  familiar  similes,  in  the  happy 
employment  of  anecdotes,  in  the  philosophy  of  her  reflections, 
or  in  the  idiomatic  graces  of  her  style. 

Lady  Wortley  Montagu  has  received  justice  as  a  writer, 
not  as  a  benefactress.  At  least  she  has  been  denied  that  sort 
of  justice  which  consists  in  burial  honors  and  in  the  tribute  of  a 
national  monument.  Westminster  Abbey  has  opened  its  massive 
portals  to  less  worthy  occupants  than  she,  and  for  her  least 
merit  she  might  have  claimed  a  resting-place  in  the  Poets' 
Corner.  The  cathedral  at  Lichfield  contains  the  only  cenotaph 
to  her  memory,  and  this  does  not  stand  over  her  remains.  It 
was  erected,  thirty  years  after  her  death,  by  a  woman,  Henrietta 
Inge,  who  seems  to  have  been  alone  in  the  desire  to  acknowledge 
a  debt,  due  not  only  from  England  but  from  the  human  race. 
The  monument  represents  Beauty,  in  female  form,  weeping  over 
the  ashes  of  her  preserver,  inurned  beneath  her.  To  appreciate 
the  force  of  this  conceit,  the  reader  must  transport  himself, 
in  imagination,  to  the  period  when  beauty,  health,  life,  were 
at  the  mercy  of  that  virulent  scourge,  the  small  pox,  when  no 
prevention  was  known  and  when  cure  was  a  matter  of  chance, 
not  of  calculation  ;  when  a  young  and  delicate  woman  of  less 
than  thirty  years,  struggling  against  the  prejudices  of  centuries, 
the  superstitions  of  a  credulous  age,  and  the  resistance  of  the 
pulpit  and  the  faculty,  and  finally  triumphant  over  them,  con- 
ferred upon  Western  Europe  the  greatest  medical  and  social 
boon  which  it  had  then  been  given  to  man  or  woman  to  bestow 
upon  their  race. 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE 


Marie-Antoinette-Josephe-Jeanne,  Archduchess  of  Austria, 
daughter  of  Francis  I.  and  Maria  Theresa,  Emperor  and  Empress 
of  Germany,  was  born  at  Vienna,  on  the  second  of  November, 
1755.  She  received  a  briUiant  though  superficial  education  un- 
der the  eyes  of  her  illustrious  mother  ;  every  opportunity  was 
taken  to  impress  upon  her  infant  mind  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
superiority  of  herself  and  her  sister  archduchesses  to  the  off- 
spring of  every  other  royal  house.  She  was  apt  and  zealous, 
and  made  rapid  progress  in  the  study  of  languages,  of  drawing 
and  of  music.  At  the  early  age  of  fourteen  years,  Marie  Antoi- 
nette was  an  accomplished  and  majestic  princess.  She  was  slight 
and  gracefid,  and  of  imposing  bearing  ;  her  lofty  manner  of  car- 
rying her  head  at  once  attracted  the  observer.  Her  hair  was 
Ught  brown,  long  and  silky  ;  her  forehead  high  and  somewhat 
projecting  ;  her  nose  aquiline,  with  nostrils  dilating  at  the  least 
emotion  ;  her  eyes  were  blue  and  penetrating  ;  her  teeth  white, 
and  her  lips  full  and  well-defined.  Her  expression  was  animated, 
though  her  smile  was  pensive.  Her  complexion  was  of  dazzling 
purity,  and  her  skin  so  white  that,  in  her  portraits  still  to  be 
seen  at  Schoenbrunn,  it  seems  to  cast  a  shade  on  the  satin  of  her 
royal  vestments. 


2TS 


276  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

The  relations  of  Austria  and  France  had  long  been  those 
either  of  open  warfare  or  secret  enmity.  Since  the  time  of 
Henry  IV.,  every  battle  fought  and  every  treaty  signed  be- 
tween these  two  powers,  had  deprived  Austria  either  of  a 
contiguous  province  or  a  tributary  kingdom,  and  by  these  suc- 
cessive losses  either  France,  or  some  one  of  her  allies,  had 
profited.  Maria  Theresa,  viewing  with  alarm  this  decline  of 
Austrian  influence,  formed  the  astute  plan  of  converting  her 
dangerous  neighbor  into  a  complaisant  ally  ;  and  the  treaties 
of  1756  and  '58,  uniting  the  two  powers  in  one  scheme  of 
operations,  permitted  Austria  to  commence,  unopposed,  a  series 
of  devastations  in  the  north  of  Europe.  Not  long  afterwards, 
an  alliance  between  the  houses  of  Bourbon  and  of  Austria, 
seeming  to  subserve  the  interests  of  both  courts,  was  agreed 
upon,  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  contracted  to  Louis,  grandson 
of  Louis  XV.,  and  dauphin,  by  the  death  of  his  father,  the 
Duke  de  Berry. 

A  change  at  once  took  place  in  the  occupations  of  the 
archduchess.  She  was  placed  under  the  immediate  care  of 
the  Abb6  de  Vermond,  a  worldly-minded  ecclesiastic,  who  in- 
structed her  in  the  usages  of  the  French  court  and  the  collo- 
quial idioms  of  the  language.  He  is  also  believed  to  have 
fully  acquainted  her  with  the  laxity  of  French  morals,  and 
with  the  liberty  which  had  been  and  still  might  be  enjoyed 
by  queens  residing  in  the  French  metropolis.  Maria  The- 
resa likewise  gave  her  long  lectures  upon  poUtical  and  in- 
ternational topics,  advising  her  in  her  choice  of  companions, 
and  dictating  to  her  the  attitude  she  should  assume  in  her 
double  character  of  Archduchess  of  Austria  and  Queen  of 
France.  That  she  earnestly  desired  her  daughter  to  become 
a  bond  of  union  between  the  two  powers,  it  would  be  idle 
to  doubt  or  deny  ;  but  that  she  hoped  to  make  of  an  im- 
pressible girl  of  fifteen  years,  an  instrument  of  treason  fatal 
to  France  and  to  him  who  would  so  shortly  ascend  the  throne. 


MAEIE    ANTOINETTE.  277 

is  neither  probable  nor  possible.  It  is  certain,  however,  that 
Marie  Antoinette  manifested  sufficient  interest  in  the  fortunes 
of  her  country  to  deserve,  in  a  measure,  the  contemptuous  epi- 
thet of  Autrichienne  which  her  French  subjects  soon  bestowed 
upon  her. 

Marie  Antoinette  left  her  home  eai'ly  in  April,  1770.  The 
streets  of  Vienna,  through  which  her  route  lay,  were  thronged 
with  men  and  women  anxious  to  extend  to  her  their  parting  be- 
nediction. As  she  passed,  her  cheeks  were  seen  to  be  bathed  in 
tears,  while  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  or  her 
hands.  From  time  to  time  she  leaned  out  of  her  carriage,  to 
take  one  last  look  at  the  home  which  she  could  not  expect  soon 
to  revisit,  and  which  inexorable  fate  had  decreed  she  should 
never  more  behold. 

She  arrived  at  Compi^gne,  in  France,  on  the  14th  of  the 
month;  she  was  there  received  by  the  whole  royal  family,  and 
presented  by  Louis  XV.  himself  to  the  daujihin,  her  betrothed  ; 
on  the  16th  her  marriage  took  place  at  Versailles.  Twenty  mil- 
lions of  francs  were  spent  in  festivities  and  public  rejoicings. 
The  bouquet,  with  which  the  pyrotechnic  display  concluded,  was 
formed  of  thirty  thousand  rockets,  and  the  colored  lamps  with 
which  the  gardens  of  the  palace  were  illuminated,  were  counted 
by  hundreds  of  thousands. 

The  city  of  Paris  celebrated  the  nuptials  of  the  prince  a  fort- 
night later,  on  the  30th  of  April.  An  exhibition  of  fireworks  was 
given  upon  the  Place  Louis  XV.,  and  here,  in  the  midst  of  disor- 
ders occasioned  by  the  negligence  of  the  police,  and  by  the  ob- 
struction of  one  of  the  principal  outlets  by  masses  of  building 
stone,  an  indiscriminate  massacre  of  unoffending  persons  took 
place  at  the  hands  of  assassins  believed  to  have  been  paid  by 
parties  opposed  to  the  alliance.  Twelve  hundred  men,  women 
and  children  were  either  slain  or  wounded.  Marie  Antoinette 
wept  when  she  learned  the  extent  of  the  calamity ;  the  Parisians 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  contented  themselves  with  saying 


278  MAEIE     ANTOINETTE. 

that  a  reign  thus  inauspiciously  commenced  could  not  be  hap- 
pily consummated. 

The  character  of  Marie  Antoinette  furnished  a  happy  con- 
trast, not  to  say  a  compensating  balance  to  that  of  the  danj^hin  ; 
her  character,  so  to  speak,  completed  his.  While  he  was  grave, 
retiring  and  contemplative,  she  was  fond  of  gaiety,  of  the  plea- 
sures derived  from  intimacy  and  social  intercourse,  of  music 
and  dancing.  She  drew  him  gently  from  his  solitude  into  the 
amusements  and  frivolities  of  the  palace,  and  sought  to  render 
him  more  at  home  in  the  midst  of  a  court  so  shortly  to  be- 
come his  own.  She  succeeded  in  gaining  the  aflection  of  the 
king,  and  adroitly  avoided  giving  offence  to  Madame  Dubarry, 
the  favorite.  She  cherished  a  hearty  detestation  of  the  se- 
vere exactions  of  court  formality,  and  never  failed  to  throw 
them  off  when  an  opportunity  occurred,  to  the  indescribable 
horror  of  the  Duchess  of  Noailles,  the  most  rigid  martinet 
of  the  kingdom,  and  to  whom  Marie  Antoinette  had  given  the 
name  of  "Madame  Etiquette."  She  set  the  regulations  of  this 
functionary  at  defiance,  and  affected  the  manners  of  a  pri- 
vate lady  to  a  degree  which,  in  a  court  so  ceremonious,  could 
not  fail  to  excite  remark.  She  would  chase  butterflies  in  the 
park  in  a  manner  anything  but  regal,  and  would  drop  in  to 
dine  with  the  younger  sons  of  the  king  without  having  been 
invited.  On  one  occasion,  while  enjoying  the  relaxation  of  a 
warm  bath,  she  sent  for  a  venerable  priest,  and  questioned  him 
with  deep  interest  upon  the  situation  and  requirements  of  his 
parish.  The  alarmed  ecclesiastic  endeavored  to  break  from 
the  room  upon  beholding  the  lady's  extraordinary  plight,  but 
the  dauphiuess  compelled  him  to  remain  a  sufficient  length 
of  time  for  the  escapade  to  become  public,  and  thus  reach  the 
ears  of  Madame  Etiquette. 

Marie  Antoinette  dressed  with  taste,  danced  with  unusual 
grace,  and  was  passionately  fond  of  masked  balls  by  moonlight. 
Her  delight  in  this  last  amusement,  and  the  extent  to  which  she  . 


MARIE     ANTOINETTE.  279 

profited  by  the  freedom  it  afforded,  produced  their  natural  re- 
sult—her character  was  assailed,  aud  she  was  very  soon  regarded 
as  an  apt  pupil  in  a  dissolute  and  abandoned  school.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  these  balls  was  given  by  M.  de  Fleury,  am- 
bassador of  Malta.  His  chateau  and  grounds  were  converted,  for 
the  occasion,  into  the  Hades  and  Heaven  of  mythology.  The 
guests  first  crossed  the  Styx,  which  was  a  temporary  river  con- 
taining one  thousand  pailsful  of  water,  and  embanked  by  wooden 
dykes.  They  were  ferried  across  by  a  pantomimist  from  the 
opera,  who  seems  to  have  borrowed  the  manners  of  Corydon 
rather  than  of  Charon,  with  such  exquisite  grace  and  bland  con- 
descension did  he  discharge  his  duties  as  boatman.  Farther  on 
was  a  Phlegethon  of  spirits  of  wine  ;  a  tun  of  that  inflammable  de- 
coction was  burned  upon  its  bosom,  while  a  score  of  masked  and 
yelling  devils  danced  upon  its  borders,  to  the  din  of  gongs  and 
other  utensils  of  pandemonium.  Beyond  lay  the  Elysian  Fields, 
a  glowing  expanse  of  flowers  and  illuminations.  Tables  laden 
with  viands  and  potables,  more  solid  than  nectar  and  ambrosia, 
reminded  the  guests  that  their  appetites  were  not  those  of  disem- 
bodied shades.  Groves,  dark  and  labyrinthian,  invited  the  me- 
ditative to  contemplation  and  retrospection.  The  gossip  of  the 
day  alleged  that  they  were  otherwise  employed,  and  the  fact  that 
the  meditators  invariably  went  in  couples  may  perhaps  be  cited 
in  support  of  the  allegation.  Marie  Antoinette  was  so  delighted 
with  this  feature  of  the  entertainment  that  she  commanded  the 
ambassador  to  give  a  second — an  order  with  which  he  reluctantly 
complied,  as  the  first  had  cost  him  forty  thousand  francs. 

On  the  10th  of  May,  1774,  Marie  Antoinette  became  Queen 
of  France.  Louis  XV.  died  at  Versailles  during  a  storm  which 
shook  the  stately  palace  to  its  foundations  ;  and  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  commotion  of  the  elements  such  as  neither  she  nor  the 
young  king  had  ever  beheld,  that  they  passed  from  their  happy 
condition  of  irresponsibility  to  that  weight  of  care  which  their 
early  years  were  now  summoned  to  support. 


280  MAEIE    ANTOINETTE. 

The  accession  of  Louis  XVI.,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  "in 
the  midst  of  a  corrupt  court,  he  had  led  an  incorrupt  Ufe  ;  in  the 
midst  of  irrehgion  and  atheism,  had  preserved  a  pure  and 
enhghtened  devotion  ;  who  was  personally  economical  in  the 
midst  of  unbridled  luxury,"  was  hailed  with  acclamation.  The 
country  was  loaded  with  oppressive  taxes  and  ravaged  by 
infidelity  and  licentiousness,  the  fruit  of  a  long  and  infamous 
reign.  The  hope  entertained  by  all  classes  that  the  new  king 
would  take  measures  to  remove  these  evils,  was  expressed 
in  the  surname  popularly  given  to  him — le  Desire  ;  but  as  this 
title  implied  a  reproach  upon  his  predecessor,  he  declined  accept- 
ing it.  He  applied  himself  diligently  to  redress  the  grievances 
of  the  nation.  One  of  his  first  acts  was  to  exempt  his  people 
from  the  tax  known  as  that  of  "happy  accession" — the  tax 
which  we  have  already  mentioned  as  exacted  by  Francis  I.  in 
favor  of  his  mother,  and  by  Henry  II.  in  behalf  of  his  mistress. 
Marie  Antoinette  likewise  signalized  her  advent  to  the  throne 
by  a  general  amnesty  of  those  who  had  offended  her.  To  the 
Marquis  of  Pont^coulant,  Major  of  the  Life-guards,  who,  recol- 
lecting her  declaration  that  she  would  never  forget  one  of  his 
epigrams  at  her  expense,  was  preparing  to  hand  in  his  resig- 
nation, she  said:  "The  queen  cannot  remember  the  quari'els  of 
the  dauphiness,  and  I  now  request  that  the  Marquis  of  Pont^- 
coulant  will  no  longer  recollect  what  I  have  blotted  from  my 
memory."  Following  the  example  of  the  king,  she  renounced 
the  tax  known  as  the  "  Queen's  belt,"  as  it  was  one  which  bore 
heavily  upon  the  laboring  classes.  One  of  the  court  poets  thus 
made  the  sacrifice  the  theme  of  a  graceful  compliment : 

"Renounce,  fair  queen,  your  noblest  due? 
Renounce  the  bless'd,  the  regal  zone  ? 
Yet,  what  imports  this  belt  to  you — 
Since  that  of  Venus  is  your  own  ?" 

Marie    Antoinette    soon    interested    herself    in    the    political 


MAEIE    ANTOINETTE.  281 

affairs  of  the  nation,  and  made  her  influence  especially  felt  in 
the  dismissal  and  appointment  of  ministers.  The  Duke  d'Aiguil- 
lon,  who  held  the  two  portfolios  of  War  and  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
and  who  had  been  the  creature  of  Mme.  Dubarry,  shared  the 
fate  of  the  favorite  ;  exile  was  the  portion  of  both.  The  other 
ministers  were  succeeded  by  men  more  worthy  of  the  confidence 
of  the  nation.  This  general  rotation  in  office  was  termed  the 
St.  Bartholomew  of  the  Cabinet ;  "  not,"  however,  according  to 
a  popular  epigram,  "a  massacre  of  the  innocent."  The  queen 
petitioned  the  king  for  a  palace  which  should  be  exclusively  her 
own,  and  "  where  she  might  do  as  she  liked."  He  gave  her  the 
Petit  Trianon  at  Versailles,  as  one  peculiarly  suitable  to  her, 
"as  it  had  always  been  the  country  seat  of  the  favorites  of  the 
kings."  She  accepted  the  gift  on  condition  that  his  majesty 
would  never  visit  it  unless  invited.  Its  name  was  changed  to 
"  le  Petit  Vienue" — one  of  the  numerous  cases  in  which  Marie 
Antoinette  merited  her  invidious  sobriquet  of  Autrichienne. 
Here  she  amused  herself-by  dressing  in  white  muslin,  and  enact- 
ing the  dairymaid  in  a  thatched  cottage  erected  for  the  purpose. 
That  which  appeared  a  cottage,  however,  proved,  upon  a  nearer 
inspection,  to  be  a  sumptuous  ball-room. 

The  demeanor  of  the  queen  towards  the  ladies  of  the  royal 
family  was  neither  prudent  nor  praiseworthy.  She  took  from 
the  dowager  aunts  their  prerogative  of  doing  the  honors  of 
the  court,  and  left  them  at  liberty  to  withdraw  to  Bellcvue  and 
Meudon,  like  veterans  invalided  in  the  service.  She  offended 
Ukewise  her  royal  sisters-in-law,  by  affecting  to  look  down 
upon  them  not  only  from  the  throne  which  she  tenanted  as 
queen,  but  from  the  steps  of  that  throne  which  she  occupied 
as  archduchess.  Domestic  discord  and  mutual  recriminations 
flowed  naturally  from  these  hostile  pretensions.  The  more  seri- 
ous portion  of  the  court,  thus  led  to  combine  for  mutual  sup- 
port, formed,  imperceptibly,  a  germ  of  opposition  ;   while  the 

queen,  collecting  about  her  the  younger  and  more  thoughtless 

36 


282  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

members  of  her  society,  spent  her  time  in  the  frivolities  and — 
it  would  be  vain  to  deny  it — in  the  excesses  which  characterized 
the  epoch.  AU  her  amusements  were  of  a  sort  that  lowered  her 
in  the  public  estimation. 

Marie  Antoinette  gave  birth,  on  the  20th  of  December,  1778, 
to  a  princess,  who  was  chi-istened  Marie-Th^r^se-Charlotte.  The 
king  disguised  his  chagrin  at  the  sex  of  the  infant,  and  the  court 
and  the  city  rejoiced  over  the  auspicious  event.  The  queen  kept 
her  room  on  New  Year's  Day,  and  amused  herself,  in  company 
with  the  king's  younger  brother,  the  Count  d'Artois — after- 
wards Charles  X. — in  classing  the  ladies  of  her  society  according 
to  a  sliding  scale  of  beauty.  The  hst  was  divided  into  seven 
categories  or  columns,  at  the  head  of  which  were  the  following 
descriptive  adjectives :  Beautiful,  Pretty,  Passable,  Plain,  Ugly, 
Hideous,  Abominable.  The  queen  was  the  only  tenant  of  the 
column  of  the  Beautiful  ;  two  of  her  favorites  were  alone  judged 
worthy  to  figure  in  the  category  of  the  Pretty ;  while  all  the  rest 
were  indiscriminately  huddled  together  under  the  contumehous 
designations  of  the  Hideous  and  Abominable. 

The  queen,  upon  her  restoration  to  health,  conceived  a  vio- 
lent fancy  for  an  interdicted  and  unqueenly  amusement — the 
private  performances  of  the  Montansier  Theatre  at  Versailles. 
These  were  of  a  character  so  gross  that  they  were  never  ex- 
hibited before  the  public  proper,  but  took  place  at  a  late  hour, 
after  the  regular  audience  had  been  dismissed.  Marie  Antoinette 
stole  noiselessly  from  her  bedroom,  and,  meeting  her  brother-in- 
law  d'Artois,  repaired  to  the  forbidden  rendezvous.  One  night, 
on  returning  to  the  palace  in  a  carriage  driven  by  the  young 
prince  himself,  she  found  the  gates  closed  and  all  access  pro- 
hibited. "What!"  exclaimed  the  royal  coachman  to  the  sentinel, 
"don't  you  know  me,  fellow?"  "I  do,  your  royal  highness," 
was  the  reply,  "but  my  orders  leave  me  no  discretion  whatever." 
"  Do  you  know  me  ?"  said  the  queen,  appearing  at  the  carriage 
window.     "Certainly,  your  majesty;  but  you  cannot  pass  this 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  283 

gate."  "Send  for  the  captain  of  the  guards,"  she  returned, 
indignantly.  That  functionary  made  his  appearance,  but  reite- 
rated the  declaration  of  his  subordinate.  The  queen  implored 
and  his  royal  highness  menaced  ;  finally,  she  wept  and  he  swore. 
The  two  truants  succeeded  at  last  in  making  their  entrance 
through  a  remote  and  unguarded  passage-way.  Marie  Antoi- 
nette groped  her  way  to  her  room,  and  went  to  bed  in  the  dark. 
She  appeared  before  the  king  the  next  morning :  "  Sire,  I  have 
come  to  learn  whether  I  am  to  be  a  prisoner  in  my  own  palace, 
and  if  I  am  to  be  again  exposed  to  the  humiliation  of  not  being 
able  to  return  when  I  please."  "Madame,"  retorted  the  monarch, 
"  I  am  the  master  of  my  own  house ;  and  when  I  have  gone  to 
bed,  I  presume  that  the  household  generally  have  followed  my 
example."  Having  dehvered  this  rebuke,  he  left  the  room, 
without  giving  the  queen  time  to  reply. 

Her  majesty  continued,  during  this  period  big  with  future 
events^the  period  in  which  Washington,  Franklin,  Lafayette, 
made  their  names  familiar  and  immortal — an  existence  of  frivo- 
lity which  has,  perhaps,  never  been  equalled  upon  a  European 
throne.  She  spent  her  mornings,  during  the  winter  of  1780,  in 
attending  the  exercises  of  her  illustrious  brother  d'Artois  upon 
the  tight  rope.  His  highness  was  extremely  ambitious  of  rival- 
ing his  professor,  Placide,  and  took  daily  lessons  at  the  Petit 
Vienne,  clad  in  knit  tights,  a  spangled  waistcoat,  and  a  crimson 
girdle  fringed  with  gold.  The  queen,  with  a  select  circle  of 
ladies,  applauded  his  elevations,  his  distortions,  and  his  somer- 
sets. In  the  evening,  she  gambled  or  danced.  She  even  made 
a  histrionic  attempt  in  an  exhibition  of  amateur  theatricals, 
and  endured  the  indignity  of  being  violently  hissed  by  her  royal 
husband,  while  performing  the  character  of  the  Marquise  de 
Clainville,  in  La  Gageure  Imprdvue.  After  this  expression  of 
opinion,  Louis  XVI.  walked  out  of  the  theatre,  adding  a  supjile- 
mentary  criticism  in  the  form  of  a  sustained  and  well  modulated 
yawn. 


284  MARIE    ANTOINETTE. 

The  death  of  Maria  Theresa  imposed  a  temporary  check  upon 
the  levities  of  the  court  of  Versailles.  The  queen  lamented  in 
secret  and  in  silence  the  loss  of  the  empress  her  mother,  while 
the  palace  assumed,  with  evident  distaste,  the  emblems  of  an 
uncongenial  mourning.  The  more  ostentatious  amusements  of 
the  royal  circle  were  laid  aside,  but  this  unwilling  deprivation 
was  largely  compensated  for  by  the  renewed  zest  with  which 
they  hidulged  their  passion  for  the  gaming  table. 

On  the  25th  of  October,  1785,  Marie  Antoinette  gave  birth 
to  a  son — the  wretched  martyr  Louis  XVII.  The  king  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  most  extravagant  joy,  taking  the  heir  to 
the  throne  in  his  arms,  and  speaking  of  him  and  to  him  as 
Monseigneur  and  Monsieur  le  Dauphin.  The  king's  brother, 
Monsieur  de  Provence,  who  was  next  in  the  line  of  succession, 
probably  felt,  for  he  certainly  manifested,  some  little  chagrin  at 
this  tardy  continuation  of  the  direct  male  line.  Could  he  have 
lifted  the  veil  of  futurity,  however,  he  would  have  seen  how 
little  the  dauphin,  that  child  of  calamity,  was  to  interfere  with 
the  rights  he  had  learned  to  consider  inalienable  from  himself. 

In  the  same  year  occurred  the  terrible  affair  of  the  queen's 
necklace.  "  Watch  closely  that  miserable  intrigue  of  the  neck- 
lace," said  Talleyrand,  at  this  time  a  very  young  man,  but  thus 
early  giving  proof  of  his  infallible  perspicacity  ;  "  I  should  not  be 
at  all  surprised  if  it  overturned  the  throne."  From  the  records 
of  the  trial  of  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  one  of  the  implicated  parties, 
before  the  parliament  of  Paris,  we  derive  the  following  narrative, 
which  must  be  considered  as  the  official  version  of  the  intrigue. 

Messieurs  Bohmer  and  Bossanges,  jewellers,  were  the  posses- 
sors of  a  diamond  necklace  valued  at  one  million  six  hundred 
thousand  francs.  They  caused  it  to  be  offered  to  the  queen 
at  that  price  ;  her  majesty  ardently  desired  its  purchase,  but 
the  king  would  not  consent  to  so  extravagant  an  application 
of  the  royal  resources.  In  the  household  of  the  queen  was  a 
certain  Madame  de  Lamotte,  a  woman  of  abandoned  character, 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  285 

and  the  wife  of  a  man  equally  notorious.  These  worthy  peo- 
ple conceived  the  idea  of  obtaining  the  necklace  for  them- 
selves, and  in  the  execution  of  their  scheme  did  not  hesitate 
to  involve  both  the  cardinal  and  the  queen.  They  discovered 
in  the  streets  of  Paris  a  young  woman  named  Leguay  d'Oliva, 
whose  resemblance  to  Marie  Antoinette  had  struck  them  as 
remarkable.  They  easily  induced  her  to  lend  them  her  aid, 
though  it  appeared  that  she  was  far  from  comprehending  the 
full  extent  of  her  complicity.  They  dressed  her  in  magnifi- 
cent garments,  ensconced  her  in  an  arbor  in  the  park  of  Ver- 
sailles, with  directions  to  deliver  a  rose  and  a  letter  with  which 
they  furnished  her  into  the  hands  of  a  nobleman  who  would 
accost  her  at  the  stroke  of  midnight.  She  was  also  to  whis- 
per in  his  ear,  as  she  gave  him  the  letter,  "You  know  what 
it  means."  The  meeting  took  place  ;  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan 
— the  nobleman  in  question — received  instructions  to  negotiate 
for  the  purchase  of  the  diamonds  by  the  queen,  and  M'Ue 
Leguay,  having  received  from  Madame  de  Lamotte  one  third 
part  of  the  fifteen  thousand  francs  promised  her  for  her  par- 
ticipation in  the  transaction,  withdrew  to  Brussels,  where  she 
resided  up  to  the  period  of  her  arrest. 

The  cardinal,  supposing  that  his  instructions  relative  to  the 
diamonds  came  from  the  queen  herself,  had  an  interview  with 
the  jewellers,  from  whom  he  obtained  the  necklace,  promising 
payment  in  the  queen's  name,  and  himself  signing  notes  for  the 
full  amount,  payable  at  various  dates.  He  then  gave  the  neck- 
lace to  Madame  de  Lamotte,  to  be  by  her  transmitted  to  the 
royal  piu-chaser.  The  cardinal's  notes  were  not  paid  at  matu- 
rity, and  the  jewellers,  in  their  alarm,  at  once  applied  to  the 
queen.  She  pleaded  entire  ignorance  of  the  whole  affair,  which 
soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  king.  The  cardinal,  M'Ue  Le- 
guay and  Madame  de  Lamotte  were  arrested  and  tried  before 
the  parliament  of  Paris.  The  substance  of  the  argument  of 
the  cardinal's   advocate  was,   that   the   Lamottes  sold  them  in 


286  MARIE    ANTOINETTE. 

detached  lots  for  their  own  account.  The  cardinal  and  M'Ue 
Leguay  were  acquitted  of  fraud,  though  the  former  was  con- 
demned to  pay  the  one  million  six  hundred  thousand  francs  ; 
Madame  de  Lamotte  was  sentenced  to  be  whipped  in  the 
public  streets,  to  be  branded  upon  both  shoulders,  and  to  spend 
the  rest  of  her  life  in  the  hospital  of  la  Salpetribre. 

This,  as  has  been  said,  was  the  turn  given  to  the  affair 
by  the  argument  presented  in  behalf  of  the  cardinal.  It  did 
not,  however,  convince  the  public,  a  large  portion  of  whom 
chose  to  consider  both  the  queen  and  de  Rohan  as  implicated 
to  the  full  extent  of  their  apparent  complicity.  The  episode 
of  M'lle  Leguay  was  looked  upon  as  an  adroit  device,  invented 
by  the  king  himself  to  save  the  credit  of  his  guilty  wife,  and 
to  divert  the  gathering  storm  of  indignation.  In  this  point  of 
view,  the  necklace  was  really  placed  in  the  hands  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  the  cardinal  depending  upon  her  for  the  means  of 
redeeming  his  obligations.  Whether  it  was  that  Calonne,  the 
minister  of  finance  and  Marie  Antoinette's  creatxu-e,  was  un- 
able to  supply  such  sums  from  the  treasury  without  excit- 
ing suspicion,  or  whether  the  queen  imagined  that  the  jewel- 
lers would  grant  a  renewal  to  their  royal  debtor — the  notes 
successively  fell  due  and  an  exposure  was  threatened.  At  this 
juncture,  it  is  supposed  that  her  majesty  gave  the  diamonds 
to  Madame  de  Lamotte  with  instructions  to  restore  them,  and 
that  the  faithless  confidant  betrayed  the  trust. 

It  matters  little  whether  the  queen  was  really  a  party  to 
the  transaction  or  not,  the  effect  produced  upon  the  public 
mind  by  a  trial  involving  her  name  and  compromising  the 
throne  would  have  been  the  same  in  either  case.  It  was  fore- 
seen that  the  trial  would  end  in  establishing  the  queen's  in- 
nocence, and  that  a  scapegoat  would  be  selected  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  outraged  public  sentiment.  The  harrowing  details 
of  Madame  de  Lamotte's  punishment  shocked  the  Parisians 
and  kindled  fresh  disgust  for  Marie  Antoinette.     The  necklace 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  287 

remained  a  rankling  and  festering  thorn  in  the  conscience 
of  the  nation,  till  it  galled  them  into  the  high  fever  of  revo- 
lution. Talleyrand  was  right  when  he  coupled  the  fall  of 
the  monarchy  and  the  diamonds  of  the  queen.  Madame  de 
Lamotte,  after  an  incarceration  of  nearly  a  year,  effected  her 
escape  and  sought  refuge  in  London.  An  ambassador  sent 
by  Marie  Antoinette  to  treat  with  her  for  the  purchase  of  a 
compromising  document  in  her  possession,  succeeded,  after  an 
anxious  and  difficult  negotiation,  in  obtaining,  for  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  thousand  francs,  a  manuscript  history  of  the  affair, 
written  by  Madame  de  Lamotte  herself,  which,  however,  she  af- 
terwards published  in  full.  Although  the  queen's  previous 
conduct  justified  the  French  people  in  their  assumption  of  her 
guilt  in  this  unhappy  affair,  many  weighty  circumstances  con- 
spire to  relieve  her  of  any  share  in  it  whatever.  The  cardinal 
and  Marie  Antoinette  had  long  been  enemies,  and  he  was  pro- 
bably the  last  person  in  Prance  whom  she  would  have  made 
her  accomplice  in  a  dangerous  intrigue  of  this  nature.  The 
jewellers,  it  may  be  added,  were  never  indemnified  for  the 
diamonds  which  they  placed  in  the  grand  almoner's  hands  ;  and 
the  heirs  of  the  jewellers  and  the  representatives  of  the  car- 
dinal are  still,  in  this  present  year,  1858,  engaged  in  litigation 
before  the  imperial  courts. 

The  espousal  by  France  of  the  cause  of  American  Independ- 
ence and  the  consequent  war  with  England,  terminating  in  the 
Peace  of  Versailles,  in  1783,  added  to  the  internal  difficulties 
of  the  country,  by  increasing  the  public  debt.  The  queen  was 
popularly  regarded  as  the  cause  of  the  embarrassments  of  the 
treasury,  and  she  received,  in  consequence,  the  odious  sobriquet 
of  Madame  Deficit.  The  pubhc  discontent  was  augmenting 
rapidly,  while  a  taste  for  republican  principles  had  been  dis- 
seminated by  the  result  of  the  struggle  in  America,  and  by  the 
persuasive  advocacy  of  Rousseau.  There  seemed  to  be  but 
one  method  left  of  procuring  the  means  necessary  for  carrying 


288  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

on  the  government.  This  was  to  make  the  landed  property 
of  the  clergy  and  nobles  bear  its  due  share  of  the  national 
expenses — a  tax  from  which  it  had  hitherto  been  exempt.  The 
Notables  were  convened  in  1787  to  discuss  this  delicate  point ; 
they  were  dismissed  the  same  year,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt 
to  resolve  the  question.  Calonne,  and  his  successor,  Brienne, 
successively  resigned.  Necker  was  recalled ;  the  king,  by  this 
step,  comjjletely  throwing  himself,  to  the  great  dissatisfaction  of 
the  queen,  into  the  arms  of  the  popular  party. 

By  the  advice  of  the  new  minister  of  finance,  the  States- 
General,  a  body  composed  of  the  representatives  of  the  three 
estates  of  the  kingdom,  the  clergy,  the  nobles  and  the  people, 
were  summoned  to  meet  on  the  1st  of  May,  1789.  The  deputies 
of  the  third  estate  soon  acquired  the  ascendency,  and,  declaring 
themselves  the  sovereign  legislators  of  the  kingdom,  assumed 
the  title  of  National  Assembly.  The  king,  instead  of  pursuing 
a  course  of  conciliation,  chose,  in  deference  to  the  advice  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  to  take  two  steps  which,  more  than  any  other, 
hastened  the  course  of  the  revolution.  He  proceeded  to  collect 
masses  of  troops  in  the  vicinity  of  Paris  and  Versailles,  in  the 
hope  of  overawing  the  assembly  ;  and  then  dismissed  from  the 
public  service  the  only  man — Necker — whom  the  people  judged 
worthy,  at  this  juncture,  to  hold  office.  Paris  at  once  burst  into 
flame  ;  dense  and  turbulent  masses  of  people  thronged  the 
streets,  the  enemies  of  the  queen  and  court  assuming  the  tri- 
colored  cockade  as  their  badge.  The  soldiers  refused  to  fire  upon 
them,  and  the  army,  fraternizing  with  the  citizens,  formed  the 
fiiinous  militia  known  as  the  National  Guard,  choosing  Lafayette 
for  their  general.  The  Bastille  was  taken  on  the  14th  of  July, 
1789  ;  and  then  commenced  the  flight  of  the  nobles,  disguised 
under  the  apologetic  designation  of  "emigration."  The  royal 
family,  consisting  of  the  king  and  queen,  their  daughter,  born  in 
1778,  their  son,  the  dauphin,  born  in  1785,  one  of  the  king's 
brothers.  Monsieur,  and  his  sister,  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  were 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  289 

left  at  Versailles  to  stem  the  torrent  alone.  Marie  Antoinette 
wrote  the  most  pressing  letters  to  the  absentees :  "if  you  love 
your  king,  your  religion,  your  government,  your  country, 
return  !  return  !  !  return  !  !  !"  But  these  appeals  were  unavail- 
ing, and  the  deserted  queen,  who  had  so  iU  borne  prosperity,  and 
who  had  been  the  frivolous  occupant  of  a  dissolute  throne, 
entered  that  phase  of  her  career  in  which  she  was  to  become 
a  heroine  in  adversity,  an  example  in  history,  and  a  saint  in 
martyrdom. 

The  National  Assembly,  having  usurped  the  legislative 
power,  proceeded  with  zeal  in  the  reformation  of  abuses. 
Louis  XVI.  virtually  abdicated  his  divine  right,  and  with  his 
family  remained  at  Versailles.  Early  in  October,  a  report  was 
circulated  in  Paris  that  the  king  was  preparing  to  retire  to 
Metz,  there  to  negotiate  for  the  suppression  of  the  Assembly 
by  the  intervention  of  foreign  arms.  A  turbulent  multitude 
at  once  rushed  to  the  Hotel  de  ViUe,  clamoring  for  what  they 
declared  the  two  great  necessaries  of  life,  Bread  and  Blood.  To 
proceed  immediately  to  Versailles  and  prevent  the  king's  depar- 
ture, and  even  to  force  him  to  return  with  them  to  Paris,  was 
the  determination  at  once  adopted.  The  scene  that  followed 
was  one  of  the  most  frightful  and  yet  grotesque  of  the  revolution. 
Men  with  faces  blackened  at  the  forge,  their  red  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  their  elbows,  armed  with  muskets  pillaged  from  the 
Bastille  or  with  rich  Damascus  blades  stolen  from  the  armorers, 
fish-women,  decked  in  all  their  finery  of  yellow-washed  chains 
and  tawdry  lace  caps,  women  of  infamous  life,  seated  astride 
of  cannons,  their  dishevelled  hair  entwined  with  branches 
plucked  from  the  public  gardens,  their  breath  noisome  with 
liquor  and  foul  with  oaths, — the  whole  ribald  mass  singing, 
shouting,  cursing,  laughing,  dancing,  stopping  at  every  tavern 
to  tipple,  and  recruiting  tributary  swarms  at  every  corner — 
rushed  along  the  quays  and  through  the  suburban  town  of  Sevres 
to    the   verdant   and   smiling   lawns  of  Versailles.     The    king, 

37 


290     .  MARIE    ANTOINETTE. 

returning  from  the  chase,  met  the  forerunners  of  the  hideous 
assemblage.  They  were  prevented,  however,  by  the  speedy 
arrival  of  the  National  Guard,  under  Lafayette,  from  proceeding 
to  extremities  that  night.  The  king,  distracted  by  opposing 
coimsels,  urged  the  queen  to  fly.  She  replied  that  nothing 
should  induce  her,  in  such  an  extremity,  to  separate  from  her 
husband.  "  I  am  the  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa,"  she  said, 
"  and  though  I  know  that  they  seek  my  hfe,  I  have  learned  not 
to  fear  death." 

The  rabble  bivouacked  in  the  park  of  the  chateau.  At  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning  a  furious  mob  besieged  the  avenues  to 
the  palace,  and  a  gate  being  opened  by  persons  bribed  to  betray 
their  trust,  rushed  into  the  vestibides  and  antichambers  of  the 
royal  apartments.  Two  members  of  the  body  guard  freely  gave 
up  their  lives  in  defence  of  the  threshold  confided  to  their 
vigilance.  The  queen  escaped  in  the  garments  in  wliich  she  had 
slept,  treading  the  floor  with  unslippered  and  noiseless  feet. 
The  mob  burst  in,  and  found  the  bed  stiU  warm.  In  their  rage 
and  disappointment,  they  pierced  it  with  their  bayonets. 

The  body  guard  remained  firm  in  its  allegiance  to  the  royal 
family.  Fifteen  of  their  number  were  taken,  and  the  two  who 
had  been  slain  were  decapitated,  their  bloody  heads  being  im- 
paled upon  pikes  and  carried  in  triumph  thi'ough  the  streets  of 
Versailles.  Three  others,  with  the  halter  already  about  their 
necks,  were  saved  by  the  intercession  of  the  king,  who  appeared 
upon  the  balcony,  and,  with  trembhng  lips  and  faltering  voice, 
promised  to  return  to  Paris  that  day,  there  to  reside  for  the 
future.  The  queen,  regardless  of  danger  to  herself,  hkewise 
appeared  upon  the  balcony,  with  her  son  and  daughter.  The 
mob,  bent  upon  trying  her  courage  to  the  utmost,  and  intuitively 
sensible  of  the  comfort  she  must  derive  from  the  presence  of  her 
children,  determined  she  should  come  forth  alone.  A  terrific 
shout  rent  the  air:  "Away  with  the  children!  the  queen!  the 
queen  alone!"   Marie  Antoinette  withdrew  for  an  instant,  placed 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  291 

her  children  in  the  king's  arms,  and  then  reappeared  upon  the 
balcony  unattended.  Though  expecting  instant  death,  she  was 
serene  and  fearless.  This  noble  contempt  of  personal  danger 
filled  the  fierce  spectators  with  admiration ;  a  deafening  cry  of 
"  Yive  la  Reine !"  succeeded  to  the  mutinous  bacchanal,  and 
for  a  moment  the  revolution  was  arrested. 

These  events  had  transpired  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning ; 
at  noon,  the  royal  party  and  their  escort  set  out  for  Paris.  The 
horrible  multitude,  now  elated  by  triumph  and  maddened  by  the 
sight  of  blood,  accompanied  them  on  their  way.  The  heads  of 
the  two  slaughtered  ,  guardsmen,  elevated  aloft  and  borne  in 
front  of  the  procession,  served  as  the  banners  of  the  motley 
army.  A  ragged  urchin  stood  on  each  step  of  the  carriage  of 
the  queen.  Ujion  the  cannon,  dragged  as  before  by  the  popu- 
lace, sat  the  same  abandoned  women,  yet  more  dishevelled  and 
riotous  than  ever,  from  the  effects  of  their  bivouac  in  the  park. 
Oaths,  obscene  jests,  unearthly  yells,  mingled  with  revolutionary 
lyrics,  drunken  calls  to  arms,  and  frantic  rigadoons,  were  the 
sights  and  the  sounds  which  met  the  eye  and  the  ear  of  the 
shrinking  queen  during  the  seven  long  hours  that  the  journey 
lasted.  Loaves  of  bread,  stuck  upon  the  points  of  lances,  were 
waved  on  high,  as  the  emblems  of  that  plenty  which  the  king's 
return  was  expected  to  produce.  "Hurrah  for  the  baker!" 
shouted  the  crowd,  referring  to  the  king;  "hurrah  for  the 
baker's  wife  and  the  little  ajaprentice !"  they  added,  thus  desig- 
nating the  queen  and  the  dauphin.  At  last  they  reached  the 
Tuileries,  once  a  palace,  now  a  prison.  For  a  century,  it  had 
been  uninhabited,  having  been  abandoned  for  Marly,  Versailles 
and  St.  Cloud.  The  miserable  captives,  shivering  with  cold  and 
faint  with  hunger,  found  neither  fire  nor  food  within  its  cheerless 
walls ;  they  slept  that  night  upon  couches  hastily  prepared  in 
the  basement. 

Marie  Antoinette  now  passed  two  years  of  misery.  Sur- 
rounded by  spies,  reminded  by  daily  experience  that  the  walls 


292  MARIE    ANTOINETTE. 

had  ears,  unable  to  take  the  air  except  in  the  garden  of  the 
palace,  and  then  subject  to  insult  from  a  brutal  populace,  the 
unhappy  queen  devoted  herself  to  the  education  of  her  children, 
Marie-Therbse  and  Charles-Louis.  She  was  often  in  peril  of 
assassination  at  the  hands  of  her  own  guards.  But  her  character 
was  purified  and  elevated  by  these  trials,  and  she  redeemed  the 
levity  of  her  youth  by  her  fortitude  under  affliction. 

The  threats  of  the  people  and  the  tyranny  of  the  Assembly 
became  at  length  so  outrageous,  that  the  king  resolved  to  seek 
safety  in  flight.  The  Marquis  de  Bouillee,  military  commander 
at  Montmedi,  in  the  province  of  Lorraine,  was  stiU  devoted  to 
the  royal  family,  and  the  province  under  his  command  was  yet 
faithful  to  its  sovereign.  A  plan  of  escape  was  formed,  a  large 
portion  of  the  details  being  intrusted  to  the  cautious  and  skillful 
management  of  the  queen  herself.  Bouillee  formed  a  camp  at 
Montmedi  of  the  most  steadfast  of  his  troops,  upon  the  pretext 
of  attempting  a  military  movement  on  the  frontier.  Detach- 
ments were  posted  along  the  route  the  fugitives  were  to  follow, 
the  suspicions  of  the  people  being  lulled  by  the  explanation  that 
they  were  to  protect  the  passage  of  a  convoy  of  military  stores 
expected  from  Paris.  The  passport  of  a  Russian  lady  about  to 
leave  Paris  with  her  family  was  procured  for  the  use  of  the 
party.  Madame  de  Tourzel,  the  governess  of  the  royal  children, 
was  disguised  as  the  Russian  lady,  the  dauphin  and  his  sister 
as  her  two  daughters,  Marie  Antoinette  as  their  governess,  and 
the  king  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth  as  their  attendants.  On  the 
night  of  the  20th  of  June,  1791,  the  whole  party  made  their 
escape,  without  attracting  notice,  from  the  Tuileries.  A  carriage 
was  waiting  for  them  at  a  short  distance,  and  this  they  succeeded 
in  reaching.  They  passed  the  barrier-gate  in  safety,  and  were 
soon  upon  the  high  road  to  Chalons.  The  dauphin,  too  young  to 
comprehend  the  danger,  fell  asleep  at  his  mother's  feet.  The 
spirits  of  the  travellers  rose  as  they  left  Paris  behind  them, 
and  as  they  approached,  on  the  third  day,  the  scene  of  their 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  293 

anticipated  rescue,  they  relaxed  their  precautions,  and  became 
fatally  confident  of  the  happy  issue  of  their  scheme. 

An  accident  to  the  carriage  had  delayed  them  somewhat, 
and  had  deranged  the  carefully  calculated  time  table  of  their 
progress.  The  courier  who  was  to  precede  them  three  hours, 
was,  on  the  third  day,  but  five  minutes  in  advance,  the  whole 
party  being  four  hours  behind  hand.  This  caused  the  scouts 
awaiting  them  at  an  appointed  station  to  suppose  their  flight 
had  been  prevented,  and  as  their  own  movements  were  exciting 
suspicion,  they  reluctantly  withdrew.  They  had  hardly  departed 
when  the  royal  carriage  arrived.  Its  occupants  were  thus  thrown 
into  the  utmost  perplexity  and  dismay  ;  they  kept  on,  however, 
and  arrived  without  molestation  at  Chalons.  Here  the  king 
was  recognized  in  spite  of  his  disguise  ;  those  who  made  the 
discovery,  however,  had  the  humanity  to  keep  the  secret.  The 
next  station  was  Ste.  Menehould,  and  here  the  relay  master,  a 
man  named  Drouet,  who  had  been  to  Paris  the  year  before  and 
had  seen  the  king,  was  struck  by  the  resemblance  of  the  Russian 
lady's  servant  to  his  majesty.  Not  being  convinced,  however, 
he  compared  his  features  with  the  engraving  of  the  royal  head 
upon  a  fresh  issue  of  assignats,  several  of  which  he  had  lately 
received.  Doubting  no  longer,  he  made  a  hasty  survey  of  the 
other  travellers ;  he  successively  discovered  the  queen,  the 
dauphin,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth.  Fearing  to  give  the  alarm, 
lest  an  attempt  to  capture  them  might  be  bafiled  by  the  assist- 
ance of  the  royal  troops  which  he  doubted  not  were  hanging 
about  the  town,  he  determined  to  precede  them  on  their  route 
and  intercept  them  at  the  station  of  Varennes.  After  the  car- 
riage had  started,  he  rode  ofi"  upon  a  swift  horse  to  sound  the 
alarm. 

The  royal  party,  not  being  expected  at  Varennes,  found 
neither  horses  nor  troops  in  readiness.  Drouet  had  ample  time, 
therefore,  to  arouse  the  town.  The  road  was  barricaded  and 
the  carriage  surrounded.     The  travellers  were  rudely  seized,  and 


294  MARIE    ANTOINETTE. 

compelled  to  alight ;  they  were  conducted  close  prisoners  to 
the  house  of  the  mayor — a  magistrate  who  varied  his  municipal 
functions  by  keeping  a  small  variety  store.  His  wife  was  moved 
to  tears  by  the  intercessions  of  Marie  Antoinette,  who  exhausted 
all  her  powers  of  fascination  ;  but  the  woman,  though  deeply 
touched,  rephed  that  she  could  not  befriend  her  without  en- 
dangering her  own  life.  The  miserable  fugitives  were  obhged 
to  retrace  their  steps  amid  the  barbarous  insults  of  an  infuri- 
ated mob.  Two  soldiers,  who  had  sought  to  save  the  queen, 
were  chained  upon  the  outside  of  the  carriage.  Pitchforks  and 
scythes  were  brandished  about  the  heads  of  its  occupants,  and 
provincial  functionaries  assembled  to  utter  maledictions  upon 
their  fallen  sovereign.  A  nobleman,  who  Uved  upon  the  route, 
made  his  way  through  the  rabble  to  kiss  the  king's  hand  ; 
the  savages  instantly  tore  him  limb  from  limb.  Two  deputies, 
sent  by  the  Assembly  to  meet  the  king  and  queen,  joined  them 
at  Epernay.  Barnave  was  so  won  by  the  dignity  and  resigna- 
tion of  the  queen  that  he  ever  afterwards  supported  her  cause. 
Potion,  his  colleague,  was  coarse  and  brutal,  and  taking  the 
dauphin  upon  his  knees,  twisted  his  hair  till  he  cried.  The 
queen  snatched  the  boy  away,  saying  :  "  Give  me  my  son;  he 
is  accustomed  to  being  treated  tenderly,  and  does  not  rehsh 
such  rudeness."  The  captives  at  last  entered  Paris  ;  the  Na- 
tional Guard  abstained  from  presenting  arms,  and  the  sullen  and 
ominous  silence  of  the  crowd  presaged  the  horrible  catastrophe 
which  was  to  close  the  fearful  drama. 

The  treatment  of  the  prisoners  was  now  worse  than  before. 
They  were  strictly  watched  within  the  palace,  and  if  they  desired 
to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  were  compelled  to  do  so  before  the  hour 
fixed  for  opening  the  gates  of  the  gardens  to  the  pubUc.  Marie 
Antoinette  slept  with  guards  posted  at  her  bedside,  though  sepa- 
rated from  them  by  a  glazed  partition.  One  night,  they  entered 
her  room  and  sat  down  upon  her  couch.  Her  blood,  whether 
that  of  a  French  queen  and  an  Austrian  archduchess,  or  merely 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  295 

that  of  an  outraged  woman,  must  have  boiled  at  this  atro- 
cious indignity.  Her  hair  now  turned  white,  her  eyes  sank  in 
their  sockets,  and  the  beautiful  hoyden  of  the  groves  of  Marly 
became,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  a  broken  and  hopeless  in- 
valid. 

On  the  20th  of  August,  1792,  the  Tuileries  were  attacked, 
the  Swiss  guard  massacred,  and  the  venerable  palace  sacked 
by  a  drunken  mob.  The  Assembly  hastily  passed  a  decree, 
dethroning  the  king  and  overturning  the  monarchy.  The  whole 
royal  family  were  present  at  this  terrible  session  ;  the  dauphin 
sleeping  in  his  mother's  arms,  his  sister  and  Madame  Elizabeth 
weeping  piteously,  whilst  the  king  and  queen  retained,  even 
in  this  extremity,  the  wonted  dignity  of  their  demeanor  under 
affliction.  The  Temple,  a  gloomy  building  formerly  occupied 
by  the  Knights  Templars,  was  appointed  by  the  Assembly  for 
their  residence,  and  upon  the  third  day  of  their  expulsion 
from  the  Tuileries  they  were  established  within  its  fatal  walls. 

Their  confinement  was  not  irksome  at  the  outset.  They 
were  allowed  to  spend  their  time  together,  and  experienced 
a  sad  pleasure  in  the  absence  of  care  and  their  relief  from  re- 
sponsibility. Their  faithful  servant,  Clery,  attended  them.  The 
king  instructed  the  dauphin,  his  son,  in  the  duties  and  virtues 
which  would  best  ornament  the  throne.  The  queen  and  Ma- 
dame Ehzabeth  made  the  beds  and  swept  the  floors.  They 
breakfasted  at  nine,  and  walked  in  the  garden  at  one  ;  exposed, 
however,  to  the  insulting  jests  of  the  officers  of  the  watch.  In 
the  evening,  they  read  aloud  ;  Racine  and  CorneiUe  were  the 
favorite  authors  of  the  ladies  and  children,  the  king  preferring 
Hume's  History  of  the  English  Rebellion,  seeming  to  discover 
in  the  fate  of  Charles  I.  a  melancholy  foreshadowing  of  his 
own.  The  dauphin  said  his  prayers  to  his  mother  at  night, 
lowering  his  voice  when  the  commissioners  were  near,  that 
they  might  not  hear  him  invoke,  in  behalf  of  his  unhappy  pa- 
rents, the  aid  of  the  Almighty  against  the  National  Convention. 


296  MAKIE    ANTOINETTE. 

The  municipality  now  redoubled  their  precautions.  The 
captives  were  deprived  of  the  use  of  pen,  ink  and  paper,  that 
they  might  not  communicate  with  the  emigrants.  Sewing 
materials  were  next  removed,  lest  they  might  serve  as  the 
means  of  correspondence.  Their  knives,  scissors  and  bodkins 
were  seized,  that  the  prisoners  might  not  scratch  desperate 
appeals  for  aid  upon  crockery  or  glass.  An  old  woman  who  had 
been  appointed  to  assist  them  in  the  coarser  duties  of  the  house- 
hold, went  crazy,  and  as  she  was  proved  to  have  lost  her  senses 
while  in  the  service  of  the  queen,  Marie  Antoinette  was  ordered 
to  take  charge  of  her.  A  teacup  having  been  misplaced,  the 
municipality  accused  Madame  Elizabeth  of  having  stolen  it. 

The  king  underwent  his  trial  in  January,  1793,  and  was 
condemned  to  death.  He  met  his  fate  heroically  on  the  21st. 
The  historian  Mignet  has  given  in  a  brief  sentence  the  moral 
of  this  fVightful  tragedy:  "Louis  XVI.  inherited  a  revolution 
from  his  ancestors.  He  perished  the  victim  of  passions  which  he 
had  had  no  share  in  exciting ;  of  those  of  his  supporters  to  which 
he  was  a  stranger  ;  and  of  those  of  the  multitude  which  he  had 
done  nothing  to  awaken.  History  will  write,  as  his  epitaph,  that 
with  more  strength  of  mind,  he  would  have  been  a  sovereign 
without  an  equal." 

The  execution  was  over  at  half-past  ten  ;  and  a  band  of 
assassins,  singing  a  triumphal  song  beneath  the  windows  of  the 
Temple,  first  informed  the  queen  of  the  accomplishment  of  the 
judicial  murder.  She  fell  upon  her  knees,  and  prayed  that  she 
might  soon  rejoin  the  martyr.  The  royal  family  were  now 
treated  with  increased  severity.  They  had  no  servant  whatever, 
and  performed  for  each  other  the  duties  of  menials  and  hirelings. 
A  plot  for  the  deliverance  of  the  queen  was  formed,  but  she 
refused  to  profit  by  the  chances  of  escape  it  afforded.  "What- 
ever pleasure  it  would  give  me  to  leave  this  place,"  she  said, 
"  I  cannot  consent  to  be  separated  from  my  son.  I  can  feel 
no  enjoyment   without   my  children  ;  with  them  I  can  regret 


MAKIE    ANTOINETTE.  297 

nothing."  Their  food  was  now  of  the  coarsest  kind ;  their 
clothing  was  rude  and  squalid.  The  few  ai'ticles  of  furniture 
which  had  been  allowed  them  were  removed,  and  their  pockets 
were  searched  for  money.  Eighty-four  louis  d'or,  given  by  the 
Princess  Lamballe  to  Madame  Elizabeth,  were  taken  from  her. 
The  jailers  were  allowed  and  even  encouraged  to  taunt  them 
with  their  misfortunes. 

But  the  inhumanity  of  the  government  was  not  yet  exhausted. 
Marie  Antoinette  had  been  tortured  as  a  wife,  but  was  still 
capable  of  suffering  in  her  feelings  as  a  mother.  On  the  3d  of 
July,  the  Convention  ordered  that  the  dauphin  should  be  taken 
away  and  placed  under  the  care  of  the  infamous  Simon,  an  agent 
of  Robespierre.  "What  am  I  to  do  with  the  boy?"  asked 
Simon ;"  banish  him  ?"  "No."  "  Kill  him  ?"  "No."  "Poison 
him?"  "No."  "What  then?"  "  Get  rid  of  him !"  Marie 
Antoinette  surrendered  her  son  without  resistance,  beyond  the 
unavailing  remonstrance  of  tears.  She  recommended  submission 
to  him ;  but  for  two  days  he  refused  to  eat.  His  childish 
instinct  told  him  he  should  never  see  his  mother  on  earth  again. 
But  by  his  father's  death,  he  knew  he  had  become  Louis  XVII. 
of  France,  and,  young  as  he  was,  he  resolved  to  behave  as 
became  a  king,  though  friendless,  fatherless  and  forlorn. 

The  broken-hearted  queen  was  completely  prostrated  by  this 
cruel  separation.  Her  only  consolation  was  to  gaze  through 
a  crack  in  the  waU,  where  she  was  allowed  to  stand,  and  watch 
her  son,  during  his  daily  walk  upon  a  remote  tower  of  the 
prison.  She  was  happily  ignorant  of  the  horrible  treatment 
which  he  afterwards  underwent,  in  furtherance  of  the  infamous 
purpose  of  the  government.  He  was  kept  in  a  state  of  abomi- 
nable filth,  deprived  of  air,  exercise  and  proper  food.  He  was 
made  to  drink  intoxicating  hquors,  and  taught  to  sing  blasphe- 
mous songs.  His  constitution  was  soon  undermined,  his  body 
becoming  diseased  and  his  mind  obtuse.  The  Convention 
resolved  to  hasten  his  death  by  subjecting  him  to  the  horrors 

38 


298  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

of  solitary  confinement.  He  was  left  alone  in  a  huge  and  deso- 
late room,  with  no  occupation  by  day  and  no  light  by  night. 
His  bed  was  not  made  for  six  months,  and  he  wore  the  same 
shirt  till  it  fell  in  rags  from  his  back.  Madame  de  Stael  pleaded 
for  him  in  vain.  "  Women  of  France,"  she  wrote,  "  I  appeal  to 
you  ;  your  empire  is  over,  if  ferocity  continues  to  reign  ;  your 
destiny  is  ended,  if  your  tears  do  not  prevail.  Seek  out  the 
royal  infant,  who  will  perish  if  bereaved  of  his  mother,  from  the 
unheard-of  calamities  which  have  befallen  him."  Death  relieved 
the  unfortmiate  prince  in  Jime,  1795.  He  had  sur\'ived  his 
mother  two  years. 

A  month  after  her  separation  from  her  son,  Marie  Antoinette 
was  removed  by  order  of  the  Convention  from  the  Temple  to  the 
Conciergerie.  She  was  here  confined,  in  the  midst  of  thieves  and 
cut-throats,  in  a  damp  and  gloomy  cell,  watched  day  and  night  by 
an  ofiicer  of  poUce.  Her  only  amusement  was  to  knit  a  pair  of 
garters  from  the  ravellings  of  a  bit  of  filthy  carpet,  using  two 
goose  quills  for  needles.  She  was  indebted  to  the  jailer  and  his 
wife  for  the  clothes  she  wore,  and  even  for  the  food  she  ate,  for 
that  which  the  government  supplied  was  unfit,  not  merely  for  a 
queen,  but  for  any  human  being. 

On  the  15th  of  October,  Marie  Antoinette  was  conducted 
before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal — a  body  which  has  been  aptly 
described  as  "  a  court  of  assassins  and  a  jury  of  cannibals."  The 
audience  were  little  better,  the  hall  having  been  packed  with 
mercenaries  of  both  sexes — the  scum  and  dregs  of  the  city. 
The  queen  was  dressed  in  black  ;  her  manner  was  dignified, 
even  tranquil ;  her  features  were  ravaged  by  suffering,  but 
nothing  could  alter  the  serene  majesty  of  her  demeanor.  She 
had  resolved,  upon  the  first  interrogatory  which  should  be  ad- 
dressed to  her,  to  make  the  following  reply  :  "I  have  no  answer 
to  make  you.  Assassinate  me,  as  you  did  my  husband."  But 
upon  second  thought,  she  deemed  it  best  to  follow  the  example 
of  the  king,  and  to  perish  leaving  her  murderers  without  pretext 


MARIE     ANTOINETTE.  299 

and  without  excuse.  Circumstances  aided  her  in  this  resolve, 
and  Marie  Antoinette  closed  her  career  on  earth  with  two  of  the 
most  magnificent  exhibitions  of  fortitude  ever  given  to  a  woman 
to  display.  "The  awful  moment  will  live  forever,"  says  her 
foster-brother  Weber,  "when  Marie  Antoinette,  flushed  with 
indignation,  made  her  assassins  turn  pale  in  their  tribunals,  and 
extorted  shouts  of  admiration  from  the  wretches  hired  to  insult 
her." 

Fouquier  Tinville,  the  public  accuser,  had  drawn  up  the  act 
of  arraignment.  It  shows  the  embarrassment  under  which  he 
had  labored ;  he  had  been  directed  to  denounce  without  proof, 
and  in  endeavoring  to  obey  this  order,  he  betrayed  the  weakness 
of  his  cause  ;  his  murderous  instincts  had  abandoned  him  in 
presence  of  his  queenly  victim.  He  opened  the  court  by  asking 
the  prisoner  her  name.  "Marie  Antoinette  of  Lorraine,"  she 
replied,  "late  Archduchess  of  Austria."  "Your  rank?"  "Dowa- 
ger of  Louis  XVI.,  late  kmg  of  France."  "Your  age?"  "Thirty- 
eight  years."  The  accusation  was  then  read.  It  described  Marie 
Antoinette,  the  widow  of  Capet,  as  having  been,  like  Fr^degonde 
and  Brunehaut,  the  blood-sucker  of  the  French,  and  charged 
her  with  having  embezzled,  in  connection  with  Calonne,  many 
millions  of  French  money  ;  with  having  sent  a  portion  of  it  to 
her  brother  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  and  thus  enabled  him  to 
make  war  upon  the  republic.  After  these  capital  charges,  came 
others,  either  puerile  or  atrocious  :  she  had  chewed  bullets,  said 
the  act,  for  the  Swiss  guard ;  she  had  been  an  unnatural  mother ; 
she  had  worn  too  many  shoes  ;  she  had  carried  pistols  in  her 
pockets  ;  she  had  forestalled  the  markets  and  monopolized  the 
necessaries  of  life  ;  and  empty  bottles  had  been  found  under  her 
bed.  In  support  of  these  charges,  the  public  accuser  produced 
a  pair  of  scissors,  some  needles  and  thread,  and  a  lock  of  the 
king's  hair.  He  concluded  by  declaring  that  the  French  people 
had  been  too  long  the  victim  of  the  infernal  machinations  of  this 
modern  Medicis ;  and  while  invoking  a  speedy  retaliation  for  her 


300  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

crimes,  hoped  that  justice  would  be  tempered  by  conscience  and 
humanity. 

The  trial  lasted  nearly  twenty-four  hours,  during  Avhich 
the  august  victim  obtained  hardly  one  moment  of  repose.  It 
was  the  object  of  her  judges  to  break  down  her  mental  powers 
and  means  of  resistance  by  reducing  her  physical  strength :  they 
gave  her  insufficient  food,  and  when,  during  the  heat  of  the 
discussion,  she  asked  for  water,  and  a  compassionate  gendarme, 
upon  her  second  request,  gave  her  a  glass,  he  was  severely 
reprimanded,  and  even  lost  his  place.  The  defenders  of  the 
queen,  Chauveau-Lagarde  and  Trou9on-Ducoudray,  fiUed  their 
dangerous  office  with  zeal  and  courage,  convinced,  however,  of 
the  uselessness  of  their  endeavors. 

The  case  was  committed  to  the  jury  at  four  in  the  morning 
of  the  16th  of  the  month  ;  after  an  hour  of  seeming  deliberation, 
they  returned  a  unanimous  verdict  of  guilty.  The  president, 
Hermann,  asked  the  queen  if  she  had  anything  to  say  before 
judgment  was  pronounced.  Without  condescending  to  answer, 
she  signified  by  a  motion  of  her  head  that  she  had  not.  The 
sentence  was  then  read.  Marie  Antoinette,  unmoved  and  mi- 
daunted,  turned  to  Ducoudray,  and,  placing  two  gold  rings  and 
a  lock  of  hair  in  his  hand,  desired  him  to  give  them  to  the 
surviving  members  of  her  family.  She  was  conducted  back  to 
her  prison,  the  drums  eveiywhere  beating  to  arms,  to  assemble 
the  forces  which  were  to  occupy  the  streets  leading  to  the 
scaffold.  She  now  wrote  in  her  cell  the  memorable  and  touch- 
ing letter  to  Madame  Elizabeth,  which  that  unfortunate  lady 
was  never  destined  to  read.  She  then  threw  herself  upon  her 
pallet,  and  covering  her  feet  with  a  blanket,  slept  tranquilly  for 
two  hours. 

She  was  disturbed  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  entrance  of  a 
constitutional  or  republican  priest,  who  bore  an  order  for  ad- 
mission from  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal.  The  queen  declined 
accepting  his  services.     He   persisted,  saying,   "  Your  death  is 


MARIE     ANTOINETTE.  301 

soon  to  expiate" —  "My  errors,"  interrupted  the  queen,  "not 
my  crimes !"  The  priest's  manner  became  more  respectful, 
though  he  refused  to  leave  her,  as  he  said,  till  the  axe  had 
done  its  work.  Marie  Antoinette  now  cut  off  her  hair  with 
her  own  hands,  and,  arrayed  in  white,  she  awaited  the  fatal 
hour.  At  eleven  o'clock,  the  executioner  and  his  assistants 
burst  into  the  dungeon.  The  queen's  hands  were  bound  be- 
hind her  back,  and  she  was  placed,  with  the  executioner  and 
the  priest,  in  an  open  cart.  She  was  denied  the  privilege 
which  had  been  accorded  to  the  king,  of  proceeding  to  the 
scaffold  in  a  closed  vehicle.  Her  last  wish,  as  she  had  just 
written  to  Madame  Elizabeth,  was  to  meet  her  fate  with  the 
same  fortitude  that  her  husband  had  shown ;  she  gathered  all 
her  strength,  and  perhaps  was  never  so  truly  majestic  as  in 
this  closing  scene.  As  the  dismal  procession  started,  the  priest 
said  to  her,  "  Courage,  madame  !  now  is  the  time  for  courage  !" 
"Courage!"  she  replied,  "I  have  shown  it  for  years;  think 
you  I  shall  lose  it  at  the  moment  when  my  sufferings  are  to 
end  ?" 

The  National  Guard  lined  each  side  of  the  route,  which  was 
purposely  extended,  and  lay  through  the  most  populous  quar- 
ters of  the  city.  For  two  long  hours  did  the  cart  continue  to 
advance.  The  multitude  gave  vent  to  their  savage  joy  in  oaths, 
jests  and  songs,  and  even  taunted  the  queen  with  the  epithets, 
"  Fredegonde  !"  "  Medicis  !"  "  Messahna  !"  As  she  passed 
the  church  of  St.  Roch,  the  spectators  who  crowded  the  steps 
insisted  upon  stopping  the  vehicle,  that  they  might  have  a 
better  and  longer  view  of  the  victim  ;  but  the  patience  and 
resignation  of  Marie  Antoinette  were  exhausted,  and  shrugging 
her  shoulders  and  muttering  the  words  "vile  wretches"  be- 
tween her  teeth,  she  turned  her  back  upon  them.  The  scaf- 
fold was  erected  upon  the  spot  which,  nine  months  before, 
had  been  moistened  with  royal  blood.  As  she  approached  it,  a 
few  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  upon  her  knees.     The  daughter 


302  MARIE     ANTOINETTE. 

of  the  Ccesars  ascended  the  steps  with  unshaken  courage. 
"  Adieu,  once  again,  my  children,"  she  said,  "I  go  to  join 
your  fathei'."  She  met  her  fate  as  became  a  queen  and  the 
daughter  of  Maria  Theresa.  The  body  was  buried  beside  that 
of  the  king,  and  consumed  with  quick  lime.  The  bones  were 
transferred  to  St.  Denis  twenty  years  later,  upon  the  resto- 
ration of  the  Bourbon  dynasty,  and  expiatory  chapels  were 
built  in  unavailing  atonement  for  a  crime,  the  memory  of  which 
neither  time  nor  regrets  can  ever  efface. 

"  Thus  died,"  says  Lamartine,  "  this  queen,  frivolous  in  pros- 
perity, sublime  in  misfortune,  intrepid  upon  the  scaffold ;  the  idol 
of  the  court,  and  afterwards  the  personal  enemy  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. This  Revolution  the  queen  neither  foresaw,  nor  under- 
stood, nor  accepted ;  she  rather  irritated  and  feared  it.  The  peo- 
ple vuijustly  cast  upon  her  all  the  hatred  with  which  they  perse- 
cuted the  ancient  regime.  They  attached  to  her  name  all  the 
scandal  and  treason  of  the  court.  Rendered  omnipotent  with 
her  husband  by  her  beauty  and  her  wit,  she  invested  him  with 
her  unpopularity,  and  dragged  him  by  her  love,  to  destruction. 
The  charming  and  dangerous  favorite  of  an  antiquated,  rather 
than  the  queen  of  a  new  monarchy,  she  had  neither  the  pT-estige 
of  ancient  royalty — respect ;  nor  that  of  a  new  reign- — popularity ; 
she  only  knew  how  to  fascinate,  to  mislead,  and  to  die." 

"  The  manners  of  the  queen,"  says  Alison,  "  accelerated  the 
Revolution  ;  her  foreign  descent  exasperated  the  public  discon- 
tent. If  in  early  youth  her  indiscretion  and  familiarity  were  such 
as  prudence  must  condemn,  in  later  years  her  spirit  and  magna- 
nimity were  such  as  justice  must  admire.  She  was  more  fitted 
for  the  storms  of  adversity  than  for  the  sunshine  of  prosperity. 
Years  of  misfortune  quenched  her  spirit,  but  did  not  lessen  her 
courage  ;  in  the  solitude  of  the  Temple,  she  discharged,  with  ex- 
emplary fidelity,  every  duty  to  her  husband  and  her  children, 
and  bore  a  reverse  of  fortune,  unparalleled  even  in  that  age  of 
calamity,  with  a  heroism  that  never  was  surpassed." 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  303 

Thomas  Jefferson  has  recorded  an  unfavorable  opinion  of 
Marie  Antoinette,  based  upon  personal  observation.  "  This  an- 
gel," he  writes,  "  as  gaudily  painted  in  the  rhapsodies  of  Burke, 
with  some  smartness  of  fancy,  but  no  sound  sense,  was  proud, 
disdainful  of  restraint,  indignant  at  all  obstacles  to  her  will, 
eager  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  firm  enough  to  hold  to 
her  desires  or  perish  in  their  wreck.  Her  inordinate  gam- 
bling and  dissipations,  with  those  of  the  Count  d'Artois  and 
others  of  her  clique,  had  been  a  sensible  item  in  the  exhaus- 
tion of  the  treasury,  which  caUed  into  action  the  reforming 
hand  of  the  nation  ;  and  her  opposition  to  it,  her  inflexible 
perverseness  and  dauntless  spirit,  led  herself  to  the  guillo- 
tine, drew  the  king  on  with  her,  and  plunged  the  world  into 
crimes  and  calamities  which  will  ever  stain  the  pages  of  mo- 
dern history.  I  have  ever  believed,  that  had  there  been  no 
queen,  there  would  have  been  no  revolution.  I  should  have 
shut  up  the  queen  in  a  convent,  putting  harm  out  of  her 
power,  and  placed  the  king  in  his  station,  investing  him  with 
limited  powers,  which,  I  verily  believe,  he  would  have  honestly 
exercised,  according  to  the  measure  of  his  understanding." 

The  belief  that  had  there  been  no  queen,  there  would  have 
been  no  revolution,  was  doubtless  an  opinion  which  Mr.  Jefler- 
son  himself  lived  to  modify.  But  that  Marie  Antoinette's  in- 
fluence in  the  terrible  scenes  in  which  her  destiny  involved 
her,  was  to  hasten,  intensify  and  embitter  a  revolution  which 
was  in  any  case  inevitable,  there  can  be  but  little  doubt.  As 
a  queen  and  the  head  of  society,  she  has  left  an  example 
which  it  would  be  unsafe  and  immoral  to  follow  ;  as  a  wife, 
a  mother  and  a  woman,  when,  with  the  loss  of  her  throne  she 
fell  from  her  high  estate,  her  heroism,  resignation  and  forti- 
tude were  such  as  to  endear  her  to  the  world,  and  to  make 
her  story  memorable  in  all  tongues  and  to  all  time. 


THE    MAID    OF    8ARAG0SSA 


The  city  of   Saragossa   unfurled    the   royal  standard  of  the 
Bourbons  early  in  the  year  1808;  Napoleon  at  once  dispatched 
General  Lefevre   to  reduce    the    rebellious  capital.     It  was  not 
in  a  situation  to  sustain  a  siege  ;  its  defences  consisted  of  an  iU- 
constructed  wall,  twelve  feet  high  and  three  broad,  its  continuity 
interrupted  from  time  to  time  by  a  crumbling  house,  originally,* 
perhaps,  a  fort  or  an  arsenal,  but  now  dilapidated  by  the  effects 
of  time  and  neglect.     The  neighboring  churches,   convents  and 
public   buildings  were   all  in  too  ruinous  a  condition  to  be  ser- 
viceable in  repelling  the  assailants.     The  city  was  populous,  con- 
taining fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  but  among  them  there  were 
but  two  hundred  and  twenty  regular  soldiers  ;  and  the  entire 
artillery,  when  collected  and  prepared  for  action,  consisted  of 
sixteen  old  and  inefficient  cannon.     A  hill,  called  El  Torrero, 
overlooked  the  city  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  and  upon  this  com- 
manding site  the  French  planted  a  portion  of  their  siege-train  and 
batteries. 

They  commenced  their  operations  in  a  careless  but  confident 
manner,  well  aware  of  the  slender  resources  of  the  city,  and 
asserting  that  it  was  inhabited  by  priests,  cowards  and  women. 
They  did  not  dream  that  this  city  of  cowards  was  to  make  the 

39  305 


306  THE     MAID     OF     SARAGOSSA. 

most  desperate  and  heroic  resistance  known  in  the  annals  of 
warfare,  and  that  from  among  the  women  of  whom  they  thus 
hghtly  sjioke,  was  to  arise  a  deUverer  for  the  Sjjaniards.  For 
months  the  invaders  were  rejjulsed  at  each  successive  assault; 
the  besieged  endured  every  misery  and  made  every  sacrifice 
which  it  was  possible  for  patriotism  to  suggest  or  heroism  to 
achieve.  On  the  second  of  June,  a  Saragossan,  bribed  by  French 
gold,  fired  a  powder  magazine  within  the  walls.  The  inhabi- 
tants, involved  in  the  falling  ruins,  stunned  and  bewildered  by 
the  explosion  and  the  conflagration  that  ensued,  were  paralyzed 
and  powerless  ;  the  French  pushed  thek  trooi^s  forward  to 
the  gates.  A  massacre  rather  than  a  battle  followed  ;  the  ram- 
parts were  choked  with  dead  bodies,  and  defence  seemed  no 
longer  possible. 

"At  this  desperate  moment,"  we  are  told,  "an  unknown 
maiden  issued  from  the  church  of  Nuestra  Seiiora  del  Pilar,  habit- 
ed in  white  raiment,  a  cross  suspended  from  her  neck,  her  dark 
hair  dishevelled,  and  her  eyes  sparkling  with  supernatural  lus- 
tre. She  traversed  the  city  with  a  bold  and  firm  step  ;  she 
passed  to  the  rampart,  to  the  very  spot  where  the  enemy  were 
pouring  in  to  the  assault ;  she  mounted  to  the  breach,  seized 
a  lighted  match  from  the  hand  of  a  dying  engineer,  and  fired 
the  piece  of  artillery  he  had  failed  to  discharge.  Then,  kiss- 
ing her  cross,  she  cried,  'Death  or  Victory !'  and  reloaded  her 
cannon.  Such  a  cry,  such  a  vision,  could  hardly  fail  to  awaken 
enthusiasm  ;  it  seemed  that  heaven  had  brought  aid  to  the 
just  cause  ;  her  cry  was  answered — '  Viva  Agostina !'  and  the 
French  were  driven  back." 

Southey,  in  his  "  Peninsular  War,"  gives  the  following  de- 
scription of  the  same  scene  :  "  The  sand  bag  battery  before  the 
gate  was  frequently  destroyed,  and  as  often  reconstructed  under 
the  fire  of  the  enemy.  The  carnage  here  throughout  the  day  was 
dreadful.  Agostina  Zaragoz,  a  handsome  woman  of  the  lower 
class,  about  twenty-two  years  of  age,  arrived  at  this  battery  with 


THE     MAID     OF     SARAGOSSA.  307 

refreshments,  at  the  time  when  not  a  man  who  defended  it  was 
left  ahve,  so  tremendous  was  the  fire  which  the  French  kept  up 
against  it.  For  a  moment  the  citizens  hesitated* to  re-man  the 
guns.  Agostina  sprang  forward  over  the  dead  and  dying, 
snatched  a  match  from  the  hands  of  a  dead  artilleryman,  and 
fired  off  a  six-and-twenty  pounder  ;  then  jumping  upon  the  gun, 
made  a  solemn  vow  never  to  quit  it  alive  during  the  siege.  The 
Zaragozans  rushed  into  the  battery  ;  the  French  were  repulsed 
here  and  at  all  other  points  with  great  slaughter." 

General  Lef  fevre,  mortified  at  this  reverse,  resolved  to  reduce 
Saragossa  by  famine,  while  harassing  it  by  bombardment  from 
El  Torrero.  The  horrors  of  these  measm'es  were  somewhat  alle- 
viated to  the  inhabitants  by  the  intrepidity,  omnipresence  and 
benevolence  of  Agostina.  She  visited  and  tended  the  wounded, 
encountering  every  species  of  danger  to  rescue  men  and  women 
from  tumbling  walls  or  exploding  bombs.  She  supplied  food  to 
the  sick  and  starving.  But  in  the  meantime,  the  French  had, 
step  by  step,  rendered  themselves  masters  of  half  the  city,  and 
Lefevre,  confident  that  the  hour  of  triumph  had  arrived,  sent  to 
Palafox,  the  Spanish  general,  the  following  laconic  summons  to 
surrender:  "Head-Quarters,  Santa  Engracia :  Capitulation."  Pa- 
lafox received  this  dispatch  in  public,  and  turning  to  Agostina, 
who  stood  near,  asked  her  what  answer  he  should  return.  Mak- 
ing her  words  his  own,  he  replied  with  equal  laconicism:  "Head- 
Quarters,  Zaragoza :  War  to  the  knife."  Nothing  in  the  history 
of  war,  says  the  writer  whom  we  have  quoted,  has  ever  been 
recorded  to  resemble  the  consequences  of  this  refusal  to  sur- 
render. One  row  of  houses  in  a  street  would  be  occupied  by  the 
Spanish,  the  opposite  row  by  the  French.  A  continual  tempest 
of  balls  rent  the  air ;  the  town  was  a  volcano ;  the  most  revolt- 
ing butchery  was  carried  on  for  eleven  days  and  eleven  nights. 
Every  street,  every  house,  was  disputed  with  musket  and  poig- 
nard.  Agostina  sped  from  rank  to  rank,  everywhere  taking  the 
most  active  part.     The  French  were  gradually  driven  back,  and 


308  THE     MAID     OF     S  A  R  A  G  0  S  S  A . 

the  dawn  of  the  17th  of  August  saw  them  relinquish  their  long- 
disputed  prey  and  take  the  road  to  Pampeluna. 

"Saragossa,"  says  Wordsworth,  in  his  Convention  of  Cintra, 
"has  exemplified  a  melancholy,  yea,  a  dismal  truth,  yet  consola- 
tory and  full  of  joy,  that  when  a  people  are  called  suddenly  to 
light  for  their  liberty  and  are  sorely  pressed  upon,  their  best 
field  of  battle  is  the  floors  upon  which  their  children  have  played ; 
the  chambers  where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept ;  upon  or 
under  the  roofs  by  which  they  have  been  sheltered  ;  in  the  gar- 
dens of  their  recreation  ;  in  the  street  or  in  the  market-place  ; 
before  the  altars  of  their  temples,  and  among  their  congregated 
dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted." 

Palafox,  after  rendering  proper  funeral  honors  to  the  com- 
batants who  had  perished,  endeavored  to  recompense  the  few 
who  survived.  He  bade  Agostina  choose  her  own  reward,  pro- 
mising, in  the  name  of  the  city,  that  her  request,  whatever  it 
might  be,  should  be  cheerfully  granted.  She  modestly  asked 
to  retain  the  rank  she  had  usurped,  that  of  an  engineer  of  artil- 
lery. She  was  at  once  made  a  sub-lieutenant,  and  was  authorized 
to  wear  the  arms  of  Saragossa.  She  was  known  thenceforward 
as  Agostina  Zaragoz,  or  the  Maid  of  Saragossa. 

In  November  of  the  same  year,  the  siege  was  renewed  by 
the  French  under  Marshals  Moncey  and  Mortier.  The  place  was 
invested,  all  the  outworks  were  carried,  and  a  furious  bombard- 
ment ensued.  The  besieged  fought  with  desperate  valor,  Agos- 
tina now  tending  the  wounded,  and  now  aiding  in  manning  the 
batteries.  She  took  her  former  station  at  the  PortiUo,  with  the 
same  cannon  she  had  served  before  ;  and  once  said  to  Palafox,  as 
he  was  passing,  "See,  General,  I  am  with  my  old  friend."  She 
frequently  headed  assaulting  parties,  sword  or  knife  in  hand. 
Though  constantly  exposed,  she  was  never  wounded.  She  was 
once,  liowever,  nearly  suffocated  by  being  thrown  into  a  ditch 
and  covered  with  bodies  of  the  dead  and  dying.  The  general 
assault  was  made  on  the  27th  of  January,  1809,  and  the  French 


THE     MAID     OF     SARAOOSSA.  309 

established  themselves  in  the  breaches.  "Long  after  the  walls 
of  Zaragoza  fell,  the  city  itself  resisted.  The  stern  contest  was 
continued  from  street  to  street,  and  from  house  to  house.  In 
vault  and  cellar,  on  balcony  and  in  chamber,  the  deadly  warfare 
was  waged  without  any  intermission.  By  the  slow  and  sure  pro- 
cess of  the  mine  the  assailants  worked  their  terrific  path,  and 
daily  explosions  told  loudly  of  their  onward -way.  Meantime  the 
bombardment  was  fierce  and  constant,  and  the  fighting  incessant. 
Every  house  was  a  post;  the  crash  of  falhng  buildings  was  con- 
tinual. While  the  struggle  was  yet  fierce  and  alive,  came  pesti- 
lence into  those  vaults  and  cellars  where  the  aged,  and  the 
women  and  the  children,  lay  sheltered  from  the  storm  of  shells. 
They  sickened  in  vast  numbers,  and  died  where  they  lay.  Thus 
fell  Zaragoza,  after  a  resistance  of  sixty-one  days !"  It  capitulated 
in  February,  1809. 

Agostina  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  French,  and,  hj|,ving  caught 
the  infection  already  so  fatal  to  her  countrymen,  was  placed  in 
the  hospital.  Not  being  expected  to  recover,  little  attention  was 
paid  to  her.  Feeling  herself  reviving,  however,  she  disguised  her 
symptoms  of  convalescence,  and  soon  after  effected  her  escape. 
She  seems  to  have  removed  subsequently  to  Seville,  and  it  was 
there  that  Lord  Byron  saw  her,  walking  sedately  upon  the  Ala- 
meda, or  Prado,  decked  with  the  orders  and  medals  bestowed 
upon  her  by  the  Junta.  Nothing  is  known  of  her  after  life.  She 
died  in  obscurity,  in  1857,  at  the  age  of  71  years,  and  was  buried 
with  mihtary  honors.  The  stanzas  in  Childe  Harold,  in  which 
Byron  has  commemorated  her  valor  and  immortahzed  her 
story,  are  so  famUiar  that  we  should  not  quote  them  here,  were 
it  not  for  the  fact  that  her  negligent  countrymen  have  left  to 
foreigners  the  duty  of  chronichng  her  deeds,  thus  rendering  the 
English  poet,  as  it  were,  her  sole  biographer,  and  perhaps  the 
only  author,  with  the  exception  of  Southey,  in  whose  works  her 
memory  will  live.  The  verses,  too  splendid  ever  to  become 
hackneyed,  are  as  follows  : 


310  THE     MAID     OF     SARAGOSSA. 

"  Is  it  for  this  the  Spanish  maid,  arons'd, 
Hangs  on  the  willow  her  unstrung  guitar, 
And,  all  unsex'd.  the  anlace  hath  espous'd, 
Sung  the  loud  song  and  dar'd  the  deed  of  war  ? 
And  she  whom  once  the  semblance  of  a  scar 
Appall'd,  an  owlet's  'larum  chill'd  with  dread, 
Now  views  the  column-scattering  bay'net  jar. 
The  falchion  flash,  and  o'er  the  yet  warm  dead 
Stalks  with  Minerva's  step  where  Mars  might  quake  to  ti-ead  ! 

"Ye  who  shall  marvel  when  you  hear  her  tale. 
Oh !  had  you  known  her  in  her  softer  hour — 
Mark'd  her  dark  eye  that  mocks  the  coal-black  veil — 
Heard  her  light,  lively  tones  in  lady's  bower — 
Seen  her  long  locks  that  foil  the  painter's  power, 
Her  fairy  form,  with  more  than  female  grace, — 
Scarce  would  yon  deem  that  Saragossa's  tower 
Beheld  her  smile  in  danger's  Gorgon  face, 
Thin  the  closed  ranks,  and  lead  in  Glory's  fearful  chase. 

"Her  lover  sinks — she  sheds  no  ill-tim'd  tear; 
Her  chief  is  slain — she  fills  his  fatal  post ; 
Her  fellows  flee — she  checks  their  base  career; 
The  foe  retires — she  leads  the  rallying  host ; 
Who  can  appease  like  her  a  lover's  ghost? 
Who  can  avenge  so  well  a  leader's  fall? 
What  maid  retrieve  when  man's  flush'd  hope  is  lost? 
Who  hang  so  fiercely  on  the  flying  Gaul, 
Foil'd  by  a  woman's  hand  before  a  batter'd  wall?" 

But  the  memory  of  the  Spanish  maid  has  not  been  perpet- 
uated in  song  alone.  Wilkie  has  commemorated  her  glory  upon 
canvas,  and  Mr.  J.  Bell  in  marble.  The  fine  picture  of  "The 
Defence  of  Saragossa,"  by  the  former,  painted  in  1827,  in 
Madrid,  and  afterwards  engraved,  contains,  standing  in  con- 
spicuous positions,  the  figures  both  of  Palafox  and  Agostina,  and 
professes  to  give  their  portraits.  That  of  the  latter,  however,  is 
doubtless  somewhat  idealized.  The  statue  by  Mr.  Bell,  which 
was  exhibited  at  the  British  Academy  in  1853,  represents  the 
heroine  standing  on  the  ramparts ;  a  cannon-ball  has  just  killed  a 


THE    MAID    OF    SARAGOSSA.  311 

priest— the  ecclesiastics  having  shared  nobly  in  the  defence  of  the 
place — from  whose  dying  hand  she  has  snatched  a  crucifix,  which 
she  holds  up  to  incite  the  people  to  further  resistance  ;  in  her 
other  hand  is  a  lighted  fusee,  with  which  she  is  about  to  fire  a 
cannon.  At  the  base  of  the  figure  is  the  spirited  answer  which 
she  dictated  to  Palafox — Guerra  al  cuchillo. 

To  Enghshmen  alone  is  the  Maid  of  Saragossa  indebted  for 
the  preservation  of  her  honorable  renown — to  Southey,  Byron, 
Wilkie  and  Bell.  The  silence  of  the  French  is  easily  explained  ; 
the  indiiference  of  the  Spanish,  though  it  may  be  accounted  for, 
is  nevertheless  to  be  deplored.  Researches  made  at  the  request 
of  the  author  of  these  pages  in  the  libraries  of  Madrid,^  reveal 
the  singular  fact  that  no  authentic  record  of  her  history  or  devo- 
tion has  been  preserved  in  the  Spanish  language — a  fact  suggestive 
to  those  who  may  have  an  opinion  yet  to  form  upon  the  state  of 
Spanish  hterature  and  upon  the  vitality  of  Spanish  patriotism. 

'  By  his  Excellency  Don  Oalderon  de  la  Barca,  Gayaugos,  and  General  San-Eoman. 


iiu^m 


l-^: 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 


It  is  with  unfeigned  satisfaction  that  we  yield  to  the  dictation 
of  the  chronological  progression  to  which  our  plan  confines  us, 
and  cross  the  ocean  westward  in  quest  of  the  next  subject  for  our 
gallery.  True,  we  have  once  done  so  already ;  but  it  was  at 
a  summons  less  gratifying  than  that  which  now  constrains  us. 
Having  sketched,  in  rajiid  succession,  the  lives  of  the  Assyrian 
queen,  the  Roman  matron,  the  Grecian  wife  ;  the  Spanish 
sovereign,  the  French  peasant,  the  English  benefactress ;  the 
Indian  princess,  the  Scottish  martyr,  the  Spanish  heroine  ;  we 
turn  with  unaffected  pleasure  to  the  inspiring  life  of  the  American 
missionary,  whose  most  affecting  story  we  have  now  to  chronicle, 
pursuing  its  wondrous  vicissitudes  from  the  school-house  of 
Massachusetts  to  the  jungles  of  Rangoon. 

Anne  Hasseltine  was  born  in  the  village  of  Bradford,  Mas- 
sachusetts, on  the  22d  of  December,  1789.  Of  her  infancy  we 
know  nothing,  and  but  little  of  her  youth.  At  the  age  when  her 
character  began  to  develop  itself,  she  manifested  great  activity 
of  mind,  a  hvely  and  restless  disposition,  and  an  eager  relish  for 
amusement  and  recreation.  With  aU  this,  she  was  fond  of  books 
and  was  an  assiduous  student.  She  was  educated  at  the 
Academy  of  her  native  town.     Here  she  first  displayed  those 

40  SIS 


314  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

qualities  which  so  distinguished  her  in  later  life — strength  of 
mind,  precision  of  thought,  and  indefatigable  perseverance. 
Her  memory  was  retentive,  her  disposition  ardent,  her  resolu- 
tion unconquerable.  Her  schoolmates  regarded  her  as  their 
superior,  while  her  preceptors  believed  her  destined  to  attain 
unusual  excellence,  and  perhaps  achieve  some  enviable  renown. 

The  momentous  change  in  her  character  which  led  her 
towards  the  path  in  life  she  ultimately  chose,  took  place  in  her 
fifteenth  year.  She  was  then  engaged  in  a  round  of  the  pleasures 
natural  to  her  age,  in  frequent  attendance  at  balls  and  assemblies, 
and  neglecting  even  the  commonest  duties  of  that  religion  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up.  A  casual  glance  at  a  book 
upon  female  education,  in  which  the  terrible  denunciation,  "  She 
that  liveth  in  pleasure  is  dead  while  she  liveth,"  was  the  first 
sentence  which  met  her  eye,  amazed  her  by  the  applicability  of 
the  passage  to  herself.  She  became  serious  and  made  good 
resolutions  for  the  future.  But  an  invitation  to  a  First  of 
January  ball  drove  her  scruples  from  her  mind,  and  she  was  one 
of  the  gayest  of  the  party  who  danced  the  New  Year  in.  Her 
conscience  reproached  her,  but  she  quieted  the  officious  monitor 
by  the  reflection  that  as  she  had  broken  her  resolutions,  it  was 
evident  she  could  not  keep  them,  and  that  therefore  it  was 
useless  to  make  others.  During  the  first  four  months  of  1806, 
according  to  her  own  account,  she  scarcely  spent  a  rational  hour. 
The  time  set  apart  for  study  was  spent  in  preparing  the  even- 
ing's toilet  and  in  devising  games  and  froUcs  of  which  she  was 
to  be  the  heroine  and  the  queen.  Her  gaiety  so  far  surpassed 
that  of  her  friends,  as  to  suggest  a  vague  apprehension  that  she 
had  but  a  short  time  in  which  to  pursue  her  career  of  folly,  and 
would  be  suddenly  cut  off. 

A  revival  of  rehgion  now  drew  the  attention  of  the  village  to 
serious  affairs.  Miss  Hasseltine  attended  a  course  of  conference 
meetings,  and  under  their  influence,  realized  the  importance 
of  leading  a  religious  life.     She  lost  all  rehsh  for  amusement, 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  315 

became  melancholy  and  dejected,  and  often  wept  in  secret  over 
her  deplorable  condition.  She  felt  that  she  was  led  captive  by 
Satan  at  his  will.  She  sought  counsel  at  the  hands  of  her 
preceptor,  and  received  from  him  encouragement  to  persevere. 
Her  conversion  seems  to  have  been  an  arduous  one,  her  soul 
often  rising  in  rebellion,  and,  as  she  deemed,  her  worldly  aspira- 
tions requiring  the  mortification  of  the  flesh  by  a  rigidly  sparing 
diet.  She  shut  herself  up  in  her  room  and  longed  for  annihila- 
tion ;  could  she  have  destroyed  the  existence  of  her  soul  with  as 
much  ease  as  that  of  her  body,  she  asserts  that  she  should 
quickly  have  done  it.  But  she  was  not  long  left  in  this  distress- 
ing state.  Her  prayers  were  at  length  answered  ;  her  pride  was 
humbled  in  the  dust,  and  in  sorrow  and  contrition  she  laid  her 
soul  at  the  feet  of  Christ,  pleading  his  merits  alone  as  the  ground 
of  her  acceptance.  This  beneficent  change  was  thorough  and 
permanent.  She  at  once  entered  zealously  upon  the  duties 
of  rehgion,  and  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  fluctuations  in 
the  ardor  of  her  devotion,  due  to  her  natural  susceptibility  and 
to  her  extreme  youth,  she  never  gave  her  friends  reason  to 
reproach  her  with  indifference,  though  she  often  accused  herself 
of  unfaithfulness  and  hardness  of  heart.  She  publicly  professed 
herself  a  disciple  of  Christ,  in  September,  1806,  becoming  a 
member  of  the  Congregational  church  in  Bradford.  "I  am 
now,"  she  wrote  in  her  journal,  "renewedly  bound  to  keep  His 
commandments  and  walk  in  His  steps.  Oh,  may  this  solemn  cove- 
nant never  be  broken !" 

The  following  passage,  written  upon  her  seventeenth  birth- 
day, is  remarkable,  not  only  as  a  clear  and  concise  statement  of 
her  feelings  on  that  anniversary,  but  as  a  specimen  of  her  powers 
of  composition:  "Dec.  22 — I  am  this  day  seventeen  years  old. 
What  an  important  year  has  the  past  been  to  me  !  Either  I  have 
been  made,  through  the  mercy  of  God,  a  partaker  of  divine 
grace,  or  I  have  been  fatally  deceiving  myself,  and  building  upon 
a  sandy  foundation.      Either   I    have,    in    sincerity  and    truth. 


316  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

renounced  the  vanities  of  this  world,  and  entered  the  narrow  path 
which  leads  to  life,  or  I  have  been  refraining  from  them  for  a 
time  only,  to  turn  again  and  relish  them  more  than  ever.  God 
grant  that  the  latter  may  never  be  my  unhappy  case  !  Though  I 
feel  myself  to  be  full  of  sin  and  destitute  of  all  strength  to 
persevere,  yet  if  I  know  anything,  I  do  desire  to  lead  a  life  of 
strict  religion,  to  enjoy  the  presence  of  God  and  honor  the  cause 
to  which  I  have  professedly  devoted  myself.  I  do  not  desire  my 
portion  in  this  world.  I  find  more  real  enjoyment  in  contrition 
for  sm,  excited  by  a  view  of  the  adorable  moral  perfections  of 
God,  than  in  all  earthly  joys.  I  find  more  solid  happiness  in  one 
evening  meeting,  where  divine  truths  are  impressed  upon  my 
heart  by  the  divine  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  than  I  ever 
enjoyed  in  all  the  balls  and  assemblies  I  have  attended  during  the 
seventeen  years  of  my  Hfe.  Thus,  when  I  compare  my  present 
views  of  divine  things  with  what  they  were,  at  this  time  last  year, 
I  cannot  but  hope  I  am  a  new  creature,  and  have  begun  to  live  a 
new  life." 

Early  in  the  following  year,  yielding  to  the  request  of  several 
of  her  townsmen  and  to  her  own  desire  to  be  useful  to  others, 
she  took  charge  of  a  few  scholars.  She  opened  the  first  day's 
exercises  with  prayer,  "  astonishing  the  little  creatures  by  such  a 
beginning,  as  probably  some  of  them  had  never  heard  a  prayer 
before."  She  was  thus  engaged,  at  intervals,  in  various  towns, 
at  Salem,  Haverhill,  Newbury.  Though  always  anxious  to  en- 
lighten the  minds  and  form  the  manners  of  her  pupils,  her  first 
desire  was  to  plant  in  their  infant  souls  the  seeds  of  a  religious 
life,  and  this  portion  of  her  duty  she  executed  with  the  zeal  and 
fidelity  of  one  who  must  give  an  account  of  her  stewardship. 

In  the  month  of  June,  1810,  a  general  association  of  the 
Congregationalist  clergymen  of  Massachusetts  was  held  at  Brad- 
ford. A  paper,  urging  the  importance  of  establishing,  in  the 
United  States,  a  mission  to  the  heathen,  and  signed  by  four 
young  clergymen  anxious  personally  to  engage  in  the  arduous 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  317 

work,  Adoniram  Judson,  Samuel  Nott,  Samuel  J.  Mills,  and 
Samuel  NeweU,  was  presented  to  the  associatiou.  A  special 
committee,  directed  to  report  upon  the  document,  recognized 
the  imperative  obligation  and  importance  of  missions,  and  sug- 
gested the  appointment  of  a  board  of  commissioners  for  foreign 
missions,  for  the  purpose  of  devising  the  ways  and  means  of 
promoting  the  spread  of  the  Gospel  in  heathen  lands.  Mr. 
Judson  made  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Hasseltine  during  the 
session  of  the  association,  and  soon  afterwards  made  her  an  offer 
of  marriage,  including,  of  course,  a  proposition  to  accompany 
him  upon  the  mission  to  India  to  which  he  expected  to  be 
speedily  appointed. 

Miss  Hasseltine  felt  deeply  the  difficulty  and  delicacy  of  her 
situation.     On  the  one  hand,  her  affection  for  her  parents,  the 
ties    of  home    and    country,   the    general  opposition    of  public 
opinion  to  the  enlistment  of  women  in  the  missionary  cause — 
one  universally  deemed  wild  and  romantio  and  altogether  in- 
consistent with  prudence — and  her  natural  hesitation  to  assume 
an  office  so  responsible,   combined  to  deter  her  from  accept- 
ing the   commission  ;    while,   on  the   other,  her  attachment  to 
Mr.  Judson,   her  desire    to  follow  his  fortunes  whatever  they 
might  be,  her  adventurous  and  intrepid  spirit,  all  operated  to 
induce  her  to  consent.     The  question  of  duty  was  independent 
of  these  considerations,  and  she  gave  it  a  long  and  prayerful 
consideration.     "An  opportunity  has  been  presented  to  me," 
she  writes  in  her  journal,   "of  spending  my  days   among  the 
heathen,  in  attempting  to  persuade  them  to  receive  the  Gospel. 
Were  I  convinced  of  its  being  a  call  from  God,  and  that  it  would 
be  more  pleasing  to  Him  for  me  to  spend  my  life  in  this  way 
than  in  any  other,  I  think  I  should  be  willing  to  relinquish  every 
earthly  object,  and  in  full  view  of  dangers  and  hardships,  give 
myself  up  to  the  great  work."    In  October,  she  wrote  thus  :  "I 
have  at  length  come  to  the  conclusion  that  if  nothing  in  Provi- 
dence appears  to  prevent,  I  must  spend  my  days  in  a  heathen 


318  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

land.  I  am  a  creature  of  God,  and  He  has  an  undoubted  right 
to  do  with  me  as  seemeth  good  in  His  sight.  Jesus  is  faithful : 
His  promises  are  precious.  Were  it  not  for  these  considerations, 
I  should,  with  my  present  prospects,  sink  down  in  despair, 
especially  as  no  female  has  to  my  knowledge  ever  left  the  shores 
of  America  to  spend  her  life  among  the  heathen  ;  nor  do  I  yet 
know  that  I  shall  have  a  single  female  companion.  But  God  is 
my  witness  that  I  have  not  dared  to  decline  the  offer  that  has 
been  made  me,  though  so  many  are  ready  to  call  it  a  wild, 
romantic  undertaking.  If  I  have  been  deceived  in  thinking  it 
my  duty  to  go  to  the  heathen,  I  humbly  pray  that  I  may  be 
vmdeceived  and  prevented  from  going.  But  whether  I  spend 
my  days  in  India  or  America,  I  desire  to  spend  them  in  the 
service  of  God,  and  be  prepared  to  pass  an  eternity  in  His 
presence." 

Miss  Hasseltine's  determination  was  strongly  disapproved  by 
many  whose  opinions  she  had  been  accustomed  to  respect.  Some 
doubted  her  capacity,  some  criticised  her  motives.  "  I  hear," 
said  a  lady  whose  conscience  was  evidently  under  easy  control, 
"that  Anne  Hasseltine  is  going  to  India.  What  for,  may  I  ask?" 
"Because  she  thinks  it  her  duty,"  was  the  reply;  "would  not 
you  go,  if  you  thought  it  your  duty?"  "Perhaps  I  might," 
responded  the  lady,  "  but  then  I  should  not  think  it  my  duty." 

The  consent  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasseltine  was  now  to  be 
obtained.  The  letter  of  Mr.  Judson  to  them  upon  this  subject 
is,  perhaps,  the  most  remarkable  application  ever  addressed  to 
parents  in  reference  to  parting  with  a  beloved  daughter.  After 
stating  that  he  had  been  referred  by  her  to  them,  he  proceeds 
thus  :  "I  have  now  to  ask  whether  you  can  consent  to  part  with 
your  daughter  early  next  spring,  to  see  her  no  more  in  this 
world  ;  whether  you  can  consent  to  her  departure  for  a  heathen 
land,  and  her  subjection  to  the  hardships  and  sufferings  of  a 
missionary  life  ;  whether  you  can  consent  to  her  exposure  to  the 
dangers  of  the  ocean  ;   to  the  fatal  influence  of  the  southern 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  319 

climate  of  India  ;  to  every  kind  of  want  and  distress  ;  to  degi-ada- 
tion,  insult,  persecution,  and,  perhaps,  a  violent  death  ?  Can  you 
consent  to  aU  this  for  the  sake  of  Hun  who  left  His  heavenly 
home,  and  died  for  her  and  for  you  ;  for  the  sake  of  perishhig 
immortal  souls  ;  for  the  sake  of  Zion,  and  the  glory  of  God  ?" 

It  has  heen  truly  said  that  a  man  capable  of  writing  thus, 
under  such  circumstances,  covdd  be  actuated  by  none  of  the 
ordinary  motives  which  govern  human  actions,  and  that  a  father 
giving  up  a  daughter  to  such  an  alhance  and  such  a  destiny,  could 
be  moved  by  no  impulse  inferior  to  the  constraining  love  of 
Christ.  In  fact,  nine-tenths  of  mankind  are  totally  incompetent 
to  appreciate,  or  even  to  comprehend,  the  sacrifices  and  submission 
of  the  Hasseltines,  parents  and  daughter,  in  this  painfid  con- 
juncture. 

The  Board  of  Commissioners  met  at  "Worcester  in  September, 
1811,  and  Mr.  Judson  and  several  others  earnestly  solicited  an 
immediate  appointment.  Notwithstanding  the  insufficiency  of  its 
funds,  the  Board  resolved  to  establish  a  mission  in  Birmah,  and 
accordingly  commissioned  Mr.  Judson  and  four  of  his  associates. 
The  marriage  of  Mr.  Judson  and  Miss  Hasseltine  took  place  in  the 
Congregational  church  of  Bradford,  on  the  5th  of  February,  1812. 
The  next  day,  Mr.  Judson  and  his  partners  in  the  enterprise 
were  ordained  as  missionaries  in  the  Tabernacle  church  in  Sa- 
lem ;  and  on  the  19th  of  the  same  month,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Newell  sailed  from  Salem,  in  the  brig  Caravan, 
for  Calcutta.  "  0  America  !"  exclaims  the  departing  exile,  "  my 
native  land,  must  I  leave  thee  !  Must  I  leave  thee,  Bradford,  my 
dear  native  town !  Must  I  leave  my  parents,  my  sisters  and 
brothers,  my  friends  beloved  and  all  the  scenes  of  my  early 
youth  !  Yes,  I  must  leave  you  all,  for  a  heathen  land,  an  uncon- 
genial clime.  Farewell,  happy,  happy  home,  but  never,  no, 
never  to  be  forgotten  !" 

It  may  be  well  to  state  here  the  reason  why  Mrs.  Judson  is 
regarded  as  the  first  American  female  missionary,  notwithstanding 


320  ANNE     HASSELTINE     JUDSON. 

the  fact  that  Mrs.  Newell  accompanied  her.  It  is  that  Mrs.  Jud- 
son  resolved  to  devote  herself  to  the  cause  at  a  period  earher  than 
that  at  which  Mrs.  Newell  came  to  a  similar  determination.  Mrs. 
NeweU's  journal  shows  this  ;  after  mentioning  Anne  Hasseltine's 
resolve,  she  wrote  :  "  How  did  this  news  affect  my  heart !  Is  she 
willing  to  do  all  this  for  God  ;  and  shall  I  refuse  to  lend  my  httle 
aid,  in  a  land  where  divine  revelation  has  shed  its  clearest  rays  ? 
Great  God,  direct  me,  and  make  me  in  some  way  beneficial  to 
immortal  souls !"  We  shall  have  occasion  to  mention,  mcident- 
aUy,  the  dispensation  which  rendered  Harriet  Newell  the  proto- 
martyr  of  American  missions. 

The  passage  was  attended  by  no  incidents  other  than  those 
usual  in  a  voyage  to  the  tropics.  The  27th  of  February  having 
been  appointed  by  the  well-wishers  of  the  mission  on  land  as  a 
day  of  fasting  and  prayer  for  its  prosperity,  the  day  was  kept  as 
such  by  the  missionaries  at  sea.  The  captain,  a  young  man, 
placed  all  the  resources  of  the  ship  unreservedly  at  their  disposal. 
Divine  service  was  held  regularly  in  the  cabin  on  Sundays.  Out 
of  deference,  perhaps,  to  the  character  and  errand  of  their  passen- 
gers, the  officers  and  seamen  refrained  from  the  use  of  profane 
language.  The  sudden  change  of  the  climate  as  the  vessel 
approached  the  torrid  zone,  produced  a  debihtating  effect  upon 
the  health  and  spirits  of  Mrs.  Judson.  Want  of  exercise  was 
assigned  as  the  direct  cause  of  this  depression,  and  jumping  the 
rope  suggested  as  the  most  efficient  cure.  This  animating  remedy 
was  tried  with  success,  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  voyage 
Mrs.  Judson  enjoyed  perfect  and  unremitting  health. 

On  the  one  hundred  and  twelfth  day,  the  Caravan  came  in 
sight  of  land,  the  towering  mountains  of  Golconda  being  just  dis- 
cernible in  the  distance.  The  ship  at  last  entered  the  river 
Hoogly,  a  branch  of  the  Ganges.  Here  Mrs.  Judson  seems  to 
have  been  truly  enraptured  at  the  lavish  prodigality  of  nature. 
The  tropical  odor  rising  from  the  islands  is  described  as  fragrant 
beyond  description  ;  the  pakn  groves,  the  bowers  of  mango  trees, 


ANNE     HASSELTINE     JUDSON.  321 

the  Hindoo  cottages  built  in  the  form  of  hay-stacks  beneath  over- 
shadowing trees,  the  brilliant  green  rice  fields,  the  neat  English 
country-seats,  the  indolent,  half-clad  natives — all  these  striking 
features  of  the  land  which  she  was  now  to  call  home,  passed  suc- 
cessively before  her  wondering  gaze.  On  the  18th  of  June,  the 
missionaries  landed  at  Calcutta.  They  proceeded  the  next  day 
to  Serampore,  fifteen  miles  up  the  river,  the  seat  of  the  English 
mission,  where  they  were  invited  to  stay  till  their  associates  in 
the  ship  Harmony,  now  due  from  Philadelphia,  should  arrive. 
They  were  welcomed  to  India  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Carey,  then 
engaged  in  translating  the  Scriptures  into  the  Bengalee  dialect. 
The  Serampore  Baptist  mission,  under  his  care  and  that  of 
Messrs.  Marshman  and  Ward  and  their  wives,  was  in  as  flourish- 
ing a  state  as  the  bare  toleration  afforded  it  by  the  East  India 
Company  would  allow. 

Ten  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  Caravan,  Messrs.  Judson  and 
Newell  were  summoned  to  Calcutta  and  ordered  to  quit  the 
comitry  without  delay.  The  government  had  resolved  to  permit 
no  further  extension  of  a  system  which  had  already  taken  deeper 
root  than  they  desired.  Yexatious  as  this  order  was,  it  was 
impossible  to  avoid  comphance,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  NeweU  sailed 
on  the  1st  of  August  for  the  Isle  of  France.  As  the  vessel 
could  accommodate  but  two  passengers,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson 
were  allowed  to  remain  two  months  longer  in  Calcutta.  During 
this  interval,  they  became  convinced  that  their  former  sentiments 
upon  the  subject  of  Baptism  were  unscriptural,  and  after  a  long 
and  conscientious  examination  of  the  subject,  adopted  Baptist 
principles  and  were  baptized  on  the  6th  of  September,  in  the 
British  chai^el.  This  change  of  opinion  greatly  enhanced  the 
difficulties  of  their  situation.  It  sundered  their  connection  with 
the  Congregationalist  Board  upon  which  they  were  dependent, 
while  it  offered  no  guaranty  that  the  Baptist  societies  at  home, 
which  had  yet  made  no  provision  for  the  maintenance  of  mission- 
aries, would  decide  to  ailbrd  them  aid.     They  were,  moreover, 

41 


322  ANNE    HASSBLTINE    JUDSON. 

undetermined  in  what  locality  to  fix  their  permanent  abode  ;  they 
could  not  stay  in  Hindostau,  and  the  Bu-man  Empire,  where  they 
had  originally  intended  to  settle,  was  now  the  seat  of  war  between 
the  English  and  Birman  governments.  Should  these  difficulties 
be  arranged,  it  was  the  desire  of  Mr.  Judson  to  estabhsh  himself 
at  Rangoon,  the  capital  of  a  kingdom  of  seventeen  millions  of 
inhabitants,  and  where  there  was  but  one  solitary  missionary,  Mr. 
Felix  Carey. 

While  they  were  deliberating,  the  Bengal  government  sent 
them  a  peremptory  order  to  depart,  and  to  embark  on  board  a 
vessel  bound  to  England.  Preferring  to  follow  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Newell  to  the  Isle  of  France,  they  found  a  captain  just  weighing 
anchor  for  that  place,  and  courageous  enough  to  give  them  pas- 
sage, though  without  a  permit  from  the  police.  They  embarked 
with  Mr.  Rice,  who  had  arrived  in  the  Harmony,  at  the  dead  of 
night,  and  dropped  down  the  river  for  two  days,  when  a  govern- 
ment dispatch  arrived,  forbidding  the  pilot  to  proceed  fm-ther,  as 
passengers  were  on  board  who  had  been  ordered  to  England.  A 
succession  of  adventures  now  kept  the  missionaries  in  constant 
anxiety.  On  one  occasion,  Mrs.  Judson  was  compelled  to  take  a 
boat,  rowed  by  six  natives,  and  proceed  in  seai-ch  of  their  bag- 
gage. The  river  was  rough,  the  sun  scorching  hot,  and  Mrs. 
Judson  entirely  alone,  in  the  midst  of  men  who  could  administer 
no  other  comfort  than  might  be  contained  in  the  words,  "  Cutcha 
pho  annah,  sahib."  The  whirligig  of  time,  which  may  reasonably 
be  supposed  to  be  a  kaleidoscope  capable  of  producing  the  most 
amazing  combinations,  has  brought  about  few  changes  more 
striking  than  are  embodied  in  the  dissolving  views  of  Mrs.  Jud- 
son's  career.  The  daughter  of  New  England  parents,  the  pupU 
and  preceptress  of  a  Massachusetts  seminary,  afloat,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-three  years,  upon  a  Hindoo  river,  in  a  Calcutta  boat 
manned  by  Hoogly  watermen,  and  proceeding  in  quest  of  baggage 
which  the  authorities  might  have  confiscated  or  an  alarmed  cap- 
tain thrown  overboard — such  a  picture  of  the  vicissitudes  of  life 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  323 

certainly  belongs  to  that  volume  which  treats  of  the  truth  that 
is  stranger  than  fiction. 

The  police  of  Calcutta  finally  relented,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jud- 
son  and  Mr.  Rice  were  furnished  with  a  pass  to  the  Isle  of  France, 
on  board  the  vessel  they  had  quitted,  the  Creole.  They  em- 
barked, and  prepared  for  a  residence  upon  the  island  by  studying 
the  French  language,  which  still  prevailed  there,  notwithstanding 
its  capture  by  the  English.  The  few  passengers  besides  them- 
selves proved  totally  uncongenial,  and  spent  their  Sundays  in 
playing  cards  and  chess  on  deck,  while  the  missionaries  held  wor- 
ship in  the  cabin.  Distressing  news  awaited  them  on  their 
arrival ;  Harriet  Newell,  who  had  given  birth  to  an  infant  during 
her  passage  from  Calcutta,  had  died  shortly  after  reaching  land. 
"0  Death,"  writes  Mrs.  Judson,  "could  not  this  infant  mis- 
sion be  shielded  from  thy  shafts  !"  Mrs.  Newell  had  died  happy 
and  composed,  the  first  American  to  perish  in  the  discharge  of 
what  she  felt  to  be  a  duty  towards  the  heathen.  She  had  received 
her  physician's  condemnation  with  uplifted  hands,  exclaiming : 
"  0,  glorious  intelhgence  !"  Her  remains  were  buried  in  a  solitary 
patch  of  ground  in  the  environs  of  Port  Louis,  and  at  a  later 
period  a  monument  was  erected  over  her  grave,  by  the  American 
Board  of  Commissioners. 

Mr.  Judson  and  Mr.  Rice  now  endeavored  to  render  them- 
selves useful  in  the  land  where  accident  had  brought  them — the 
former  by  preaching  to  the  English  garrison,  the  latter  by  conduct- 
ing worship  in  the  hospital.  Early  in  March,  1813,  Mr.  Rice  sailed 
for  the  United  States  for  the  purpose  of  awakening  an  interest  in 
foreign  missions  among  the  Baptist  churches  ;  his  success  was 
such  that  in  a  Uttle  over  a  year,  the  Baptist  General  Convention 
was  formed  in  Pliiladelphia.  One  of  the  first  acts  of  this  body 
was  to  appoint  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson  as  their  missionaries,  leaving 
it  to  them,  however,  to  select  the  field  of  their  labors.  But 
long  before  this  intelligence  reached  them,  they  had  determined 
to  attempt  a  mission  at  Penang,  a  Malay  island  on  the  coast  of 


324  ANNE     HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

Malacca.  Unable  to  procure  a  passage  thither,  they  sailed  in 
May  for  Madras.  There,  but  one  vessel,  the  Georgiana,  was 
advertised  as  about  to  sail,  and  that  one  bound  to  Rangoon, 
whither  it  had  been  their  intention  to  proceed  when  they  first 
left  America.  They  embarked  on  board  of  this  vessel  on  the  22d 
of  June.  Mrs.  Judson,  knowing  that  there  was  not  a  single  Euro- 
pean female  in  all  Birmah,  engaged  an  Englishwoman  at  Madras 
to  accompany  her.  By  a  strange  fatality,  and  as  if  Mrs.  Judson 
was  providentially  destined  to  share  alone  with  her  husband  the 
glories  and  perils  of  the  Birman  mission,  this  woman  fell  dead 
upon  the  deck  as  the  vessel  weighed  anchor. 

They  arrived  in  July,  after  a  perilous  passage.  Nothing 
remained  of  the  numerous  English  attempts  to  establish  a  mission 
at  Rangoon,  with  the  exception  of  the  teak- wood  mission  house  in 
the  environs,  then  inhabited  by  Mrs.  Carey,  the  native  wife  of  the 
last  incumbent  of  the  station.  Mrs.  Judson  was  sick,  and  was 
carried,  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  from  the  ship  to  the  house,  by 
four  natives,  who  supported  the  chair  by  means  of  bamboo  poles 
borne  upon  their  shoulders.  Mr.  Judson  walked  by  her  side. 
On  reaching  the  mission  house,  she  was  hospitably  cared  for,  and 
speedily  restored  to  health.  Her  first  aim,  as  well  as  that  of  Mr. 
Judson,  was  to  acquire  the  language.  This  she  found  extremely 
difficult,  having  none  of  the  usual  aids  except  a  fragment  of  a 
manuscript  grammar,  begun  by  Mr.  Carey,  and  six  chapters  of 
Matthew,  likewise  translated  by  him.  They  hired  a  teacher, 
whose  duty,  at  first,  as  he  did  not  understand  English,  was  to  pro- 
nounce the  Birman  names  of  such  objects  as  his  pupils  pointed 
out.  To  acquire  the  names  was  in  this  way  comparatively  easy, 
but  to  familiarize  themselves  with  the  verbs  and  with  the  struc- 
ture of  the  language  was  a  labor  requiring  the  utmost  diligence 
and  perseverance. 

The  studies  which  it  was  thus  necessary  to  pursue  before  they 
could  attempt  any  communication  with  the  natives,  were  from 
time  to  time  agreeably  varied.    In  September,  the  devoted  couple 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  325 

commemorated  the  Saviour's  death  by  communing  at  his  table  ; 
and  on  the  11th  of  December,  Mrs.  Judson  visited,  for  the  first 
time,  the  wife  of  the  Viceroy.  While  waithig  for  this  lady,  the 
favorite  of  his  highness,  his  inferior  wives  examined  her  gloves, 
bonnet  and  ribbons  in  mute  curiosity.  When  the  vicereine 
appeared,  smoking  a  long  silver  pipe,  they  withdrew  to  a  dis- 
tance and  crouched  upon  the  ground.  Her  highness  was  affable 
and  polite.  She  inquired  if  Mrs.  Judson  was  her  husband's 
favorite,  that  is,  if  she  was  one  of  many,  and  the  sultana  of  his 
harem.  At  last  the  viceroy  himself  came  in,  clad  in  a  long  robe 
and  carrying  an  enormous  spear.  He,  too,  was  courteous,  and 
carried  his  condescension  so  far  as  to  ask  Mrs.  Judson  to  join 
him  in  a  glass  of  rum.  In  April,  1814,  Mr.  Carey  returned  from 
Calcutta,  bringing  with  him  letters  from  home.  Mrs.  Carey 
was  drowned  in  August  of  the  same  year,  and  Mr.  Carey  left 
Eangoon  for  Ava.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson  were  therefore  once 
more  alone.     The  latter  wrote  thus  to  a  friend  at  this  period : 

"  Could  you  look  into  a  large  open  room  which  we  call  a 
verandah,  you  would  see  Mr.  Judson  bent  over  his  table  covered 
with  Birman  books,  with  his  teacher  at  his  side,  a  venerable 
looking  man  in  his  sixtieth  year,  with  a  cloth  wrapped  round  his 
middle  and  a  handkerchief  round  his  head.  They  talk  and  chat- 
ter all  day  long  with  hardly  any  cessation.  My  own  teacher 
comes  at  ten,  when,  were  you  present,  you  might  see  me  in  an 
inner  room,  at  one  side  of  my  study  table,  and  my  teacher  the 
other,  reading  Birman,  writing,  talking,  etc.  I  have  many  more 
interruptions  than  Mr.  Judson,  as  I  have  the  entire  management 
of  the  family  and  servants.  This  I  took  ujion  myself,  for  the 
sake  of  Mr.  Judson's  attending  more  closely  to  the  study  of  the 
language  ;  yet  I  have  found  by  a  year's  experience,  that  it  was 
the  most  direct  way  that  I  could  have  taken  to  acquire  the  lan- 
guage. As  I  am  frequently  obliged  to  speak  Birman  all  day,  I 
can  talk  and  understand  others  better  than  Mr.  Judson,  though  he 
knows  more  about  the  nature  and  construction  of  the  language." 


326  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

Of  the  difficulties  which  they  had  to  encounter,  Mr.  Judson 
thus  writes  :  "  When  wc  take  up  a  western  language,  the  simi- 
larity in  the  characters,  in  very  many  terms,  in  many  modes  of 
expression,  and  in  the  general  structure  of  the  sentences,  its 
being  in  fair  print — a  circumstance  we  hardly  think  of — and  the 
assistance  of  grammars,  dictionaries  and  instructors,  render  the 
work  comparatively  easy.  But  when  we  take  up  a  language 
spoken  by  a  people  on  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  whose  very 
thoughts  run  in  channels  diverse  from  ours,  and  whose  modes  of 
expression  are,  consequently,  all  new  and  uncouth  ;  when  we 
find  the  letters  and  words  all  totally  destitute  of  the  least  resem- 
blance to  any  language  we  had  ever  met  with,  and  these  words 
not  fairly  divided  and  distinguished,  as  in  western  writing,  by 
breaks  and  points  and  capitals,  but  run  together  in  one  con- 
tinuous line,  a  sentence  or  paragraph  seeming  to  the  eye  but  one 
long  word  ;  when,  instead  of  characters  on  paper,  we  find  only 
obscure  scratches  on  dried  palm  leaves,  and  called  a  book  ;  when 
we  have  no  dictionary  and  no  mtcrpreter  to  explain  a  single 
word,  and  must  get  something  of  the  language  before  we  can 
avail  ourselves  of  the  assistance  of  a  native  teacher,  '  hie  opus, 
hie  labor  est.'  " 

Another  difficulty  which  they  experienced  in  this  early  stage 
of  their  mission,  was  the  impossibility  of  finding  synonymes  in  the 
Birmese  dialect  for  many  of  the  words  and  ideas  which  form  the 
very  basis  of  the  Christian  rehgion,  such  as  God,  heaven,  eternity, 
etc.  The  Birman  idols  pass  through  various  gradations  of  exist- 
ence, from  a  fowl  to  a  deity,  and  arrive  at  perfection  and  happi- 
ness upon  ceasing  to  exist.  In  Mrs.  Judson's  time,  Gaudama, 
their  last  deity,  had  been  in  bliss,  that  is,  in  a  state  of  annihila- 
tion, for  about  two  thousand  years.  His  believers,  however,  with 
a  wonderful  inconsistency,  still  worshipped  a  hair  of  his  head,  for 
which  purpose  they  repaired  to  an  enormous  pagoda,  in  which  it 
was  enshrined,  every  eighth  day.  Mrs.  Judson  avers,  and  it  will 
easily  be  believed,  that  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  convey  to 


ANNE    UASSELTINE    JUDSON.  327 

such  people  any  idea  of  the  true  God  and  the  way  of  salvation  by 
Christ.  The  people  often  said  to  her,  after  an  ellbrt  to  under- 
stand her  teacliiugs — -"Your  religion  is  good  for  you,  ours  for  us." 

In  January,  1815,  Mrs.  Judson,  being  in  somewhat  feeble 
health,  embarked  for  Madi'as,  hoping  to  profit  by  a  change  of  au'. 
She  would  not  allow  Mr.  Judson  to  leave  the  studies  and  labors 
of  his  mission.  The  viceroy  permitted  her  to  take  a  native  wo- 
man with  her,  thus  violating,  in  her  behalf,  the  strict  law  wliich 
forbids  Birmese  females  to  quit  the  country.  The  captain  of  the 
ship  refused  to  accept  any  remuneration  for  her  passage,  and  the 
English  physician  at  Madras  declined,  with  courteous  wishes  for 
her  welfare,  the  seventy  rupees  which  she  sent  him  upon  her 
restoration  to  health.  She  returned  to  Rangoon  in  the  summer, 
and  in  September,  gave  birth  to  her  first  child,  a  son.  She  had 
no  physician  nor  attendant  whatever,  except  Mr.  Judson.  With 
that  fervor  of  devotion  to  the  cause  wliich  characterized  her,  she 
consecrated  her  infant  to  the  service  in  which  its  parents  were 
engaged.  "  May  his  hfe  be  spared,"  she  wrote,  "  and  his  heart 
sanctified,  that  he  may  become  a  missionary  among  the  Birmans." 
Her  prayer  was  not  answered  ;  the  child  died  at  the  age  of  eight 
months,  and  was  buried  in  the  mission  garden.  The  afflicted 
mother,  seeking  to  know  with  what  end  the  dispensation  was  sent, 
found  it  in  the  consciousness  that  her  heart  was  too  much  bound 
up  in  her  chdd,  as  she  felt  him  to  be  her  only  source  of  innocent 
recreation  in  that  heathen  laud.  She  bowed  to  the  stroke,  but 
prayed  that  the  lesson  might  be  so  improved  that  God  would  stay 
His  hand,  saying,  "It  is  enough." 

The  prospects  of  the  missionaries  now  perceptibly  brightened. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hough  arrived  at  Rangoon  in  October,  bringing 
with  them  a  printing  press  and  types.  Two  tracts,  in  Birmese, 
were  published  ;  one  containing  a  view  of  the  Christian  reli- 
gion ;  the  other  being  a  catechism  for  children.  Of  the 
former,  one  thousand  copies  were  printed,  and  of  the  latter 
three  thousand.     An  edition  of  eight  hundred  copies  of  Mr. 


328  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

Judson's  translation  of  the  Gospel  of  Matthew  was  commenced. 
In  March,  1817,  Mr.  Judson  was  visited  by  the  first  inquirer 
after  divine  truth  that  he  had  yet  seen  in  Birmah — for  he 
could  not  conscientiously  apply  that  epithet  to  the  many  in- 
different persons  who,  from  curiosity  or  other  motives,  had 
casually  conversed  with  him  upon  the  subject.  By  August, 
Mrs.  Judson  had  collected  a  little  society  of  females,  to  whom 
she  read  the  Scriptures  on  the  Sabbath.  One  of  these  pupils 
declared  her  belief  in  Christ,  asserting  that  she  prayed  to  him 
every  day.  It  appeared,  subsequently,  that  this  woman,  being 
of  a  prudent  turn  of  mind,  and  wishing  to  be  prepared  for 
any  emergency,  also  believed  in  Gaudama,  whose  hair,  enshrined 
in  the  pagoda,  she  continued  to  worship  with  fervor.  A  few 
children  committed  the  catechism  to  memory,  and  amused  them- 
selves by  frequently  repeating  it  to  each  other. 

Mr.  Judson  now  felt  himself  qualified  to  enter  upon  a  more 
extended  sphere  of  exertion,  by  publicly  preaching  to  the  natives 
in  their  own  idiom.  He  set  sail,  in  December,  for  Chittagong,  in 
Arracan,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  the  aid  of  one  of  the  native 
Christians  residing  there.  An  accident  to  the  vessel  compelled 
her  to  change  her  course — a  disaster  which  subjected  Mr.  Judson 
to  the  most  annoying  delays,  prevented  him  from  accomplishing 
the  object  he  had  in  view,  and  kept  him  seven  months  from  the 
scene  of  his  labors.  On  his  return,  in  July,  1818,  he  learned 
that  events  of  an  alarming  nature  had  occurred  at  Rangoon,  and 
that  the  preservation  of  the  mission  had  been  due  to  the  firmness 
and  fearlessness  of  his  wife.  We  return  to  the  period  of  his  de- 
parture, the  previous  December. 

Mrs.  Judson  lived  without  molestation  for  some  weeks,  being 
an  especial  favorite  of  the  viceroy  and  his  family.  The  vicereine 
frequently  sent  her  an  elephant,  upon  which  she  accompanied  her 
on  her  excursions.  On  these  occasions  Mrs.  Judson  conversed 
with  her  principally  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and,  at  parting, 
gave  her  translations,  tracts  and  catechisms.     When  Mr.  Judson 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  329 

had  been  gone  three  months,  a  native  boat  arrived,  twelve  days 
out  from  Chittagong,  bringing  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Judson's 
ship  had  not  arrived  there.  Upon  the  heels  of  this  distressing 
information,  the  viceroy  and  his  friendly  family  were  summoned 
to  Ava,  the  cajDital,  leaving  Mrs.  Judson  absolutely  without 
friends  in  the  government  of  Rangoon.  A  menacing  order  was 
now  sent  to  Mr.  Hough,  requiring  him  to  appear  at  the  court- 
house and  give  an  account  of  himself.  The  teachers,  domestics 
and  adherents  of  the  mission  were  thrown  into  consternation  by 
this  message,  so  unlike  any  they  had  ever  received  from  the  au- 
thorities. Mr.  Hough  was  subjected  to  a  most  frivolous  examina- 
tion, the  scribes  of  the  court  registering,  with  the  utmost  forma- 
lity, his  answers  to  inquiries  as  to  the  names  of  his  parents  and 
the  number  of  his  suits  of  clothes.  This  was  kept  up  for  two 
days,  but  when  he  was  again  summoned  on  the  third  day,  Sun- 
day, Mrs.  Judson  resolved  to  appeal  to  the  newly  appointed  vice- 
roy. Her  teacher  drew  up  a  petition,  and  Mrs.  Judson,  gaining 
access  to  his  highness,  boldly  presented  it  to  him.  The  viceroy 
at  once  commanded  that  the  American  Christians  should  be  no 
more  molested,  and  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Hough's  examination  was 
owing  to  a  suspicion  that  he  was  a  Portuguese  Catholic,  three  of 
whom  were  known  to  inhabit  Rangoon,  and  whose  expulsion 
from  the  country  had  been  ordered  by  the  king.  Though  the 
mission  was  thus  preserved,  its  influence  was  greatly  impaired, 
only  twelve  of  Mr.  Judson's  thirty  Sunday  hsteners  daring  to  re- 
turn to  the  mission  house  again.  The  cholera  commenced  to  rage 
at  this  period,  and  as  the  season  was  unusually  hot,  its  ravages 
were  correspondingly  violent.  The  natives,  attributing  the  infec- 
tion to  evil  spirits,  endeavored  to  expel  them  by  firing  cannon 
in  the  streets  and  beating  their  houses  with  clubs.  Through  the 
exertions  of  Mrs.  Judson,  however,  not  an  individual  among  the 
adherents  of  the  mission  succumbed  to  the  epidemic. 

Mr.  Judson  had  now  been  absent  nearly  seven  months,  and  no 
tidings  whatever  had  been  received  from  him  smce  his  departure. 

42 


330  ANNE     HASSELTINE     JUDSON. 

Rumors  of  war  between  England  and  Birmah  now  compelled  such 
British  ships  as  lay  at  auchor  at  Rangoon  to  leave  the  harbor, 
while  the  imminence  of  an  embargo  rendered  it  impossible  that 
others  should  arrive,  thus  destroying  the  only  chance  of  Mr.  Jud- 
son's  return.  But  one  ship  remained,  and  in  this,  Mrs.  Judson 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hough  embarked  for  Bengal.  A  defect  m  the 
stowage  of  the  cargo  resulted  in  their  detention,  and  Mrs.  Judson, 
regarding  this  interruption  of  her  voyage  as  providential,  resolved 
once  more  to  confront  the  p.erils  which  beset  the  mission,  and, 
though  ignorant  whether  her  husband  were  alive  or  dead,  disem- 
barked and  retm-ned  to  her  abandoned  home.  Her  courage  and 
constancy  were  rewarded  by  the  safe  return  of  Mr.  Judson  within 
the  ensuing  fortnight.  The  prospects  of  the  mission  were  further 
brightened  by  the  arrival,  the  following  year,  of  Messrs.  Coleman 
and  Wheelock  with  their  wives,  from  Boston,  bearing  credentials 
from  the  Baptist  Commissioners. 

Mr.  Judson,  believing  himself  now  quahfied  to  preach  in  pub- 
lic, and  being  furnished  with  sufficient  tracts  and  translations, 
resolved  to  erect  a  small  chapel  or  zayat,  in  which  to  preach 
and  to  converse  with  all  comers  upon  rehgious  subjects.  It  was 
located  near  the  mission,  and  upon  a  road  much  frequented  by  the 
worshippers  m  a  neighboring  j^agoda,  and  hence  known  as  Pagoda 
Street.  This  attempt  was  a  hazai'dous  one,  inasmuch  as  the  tran- 
quillity the  missionaries  had  hitherto  enjoyed  was  owing  to  the 
retirement  in  which  they  had  lived,  and  as  this  favor  would  in 
all  probability  be  withdrawn,  should  they  enter  upon  a  more 
ambitious  career.  The  zayat,  built  of  bamboo  and  thatch,  was 
nevertheless  opened  in  April,  1819,  and  the  first  public  exhorta- 
tion was  delivered  to  an  inattentive  and  disorderly  audience  of 
fifteen  persons.  Following  the  custom  of  the  native  preachers  of 
the  coimtry,  Mr.  Judson  sat  upon  the  floor,  speaking  and  dis- 
tributing tracts  in  that  posture.  From  time  to  time,  an  inquirer 
would  come  and  spend  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  promising  to 
return,  but  usually  faihug  to  do  so.     Mrs.  Judson  presided,  on 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  331 

these  occasions,  at  the  female  school  in  an  interior  apartment. 
On  the  30th  of  April,  a  man  named  Moung  Nau,  or  Nau  the  mid- 
dle-aged, and  destined  to  be  the  first  Birman  convert  to  Christ- 
ianity, visited  the  zayat.  He  paid  but  little  attention  and  excited 
no  hope.  But  upon  a  subsequent  visit,  he  expressed  sentiments 
of  repentance  for  his  sins  and  faith  in  the  Saviour,  to  whom  he 
proposed  to  adhere  forever  and  worship  aU  his  life  long.  He 
was  baptized  on  the  19th  of  June,  the  event  causing  the  most 
heartfelt  joy  to  all  interested  in  the  mission.  On  the  following 
Sunday,  they  sat  for  the  first  time  at  the  Lord's  table  with  a  con- 
verted Birman  ;  and  Mr.  Judson  enjoyed  a  privilege  to  which  he 
had  been  looking  forward  for  years — that  of  administering  the 
sacrament  in  two  languages.  From  this  time  forward,  the  zayat 
was  constantly  attended  by  throngs  of  visitors,  many  impelled  by 
idle  curiosity,  a  few  by  a  spirit  of  serious  inquiry.  Mr.  Judson 
was  often  advised  to  obtain  the  patronage  of  the  king — the  Lord 
of  Life  and  Death — the  Owner  of  the  Sword ;  as  the  new  religion, 
if  approved  by  him,  would  spread  with  rapidity  through  the 
realm  ;  but  if,  as  at  present,  it  remained  in  open  hostility  to  the 
estabhshed  faith,  converts  could  not  hope  to  escape  persecution 
and  might  reasonably  expect  death. 

In  October,  two  other  Birmans  presented  themselves  at  the 
zayat,  professing  their  faith  in  Christ,  and  requesting  to  be  bap- 
tized, but  in  private.  Mr.  Judson  advised  them,  as  they  had  so 
httle  faith  as  not  to  be  willing,  if  necessary,  to  die  in  the  cause,  to 
wait  and  reconsider  the  matter.  They  came  again,  earnestly  re- 
questing baptism,  not  absolutely  in  private,  but  at  least  after  sunset 
and  in  a  retired  spot.  Mr.  Judson  felt  that  he  could  not  con- 
scientiously decline  the  request,  and  appointed  the  morrow  for  the 
ceremony.  "  The  sun,"  he  writes,  "was  not  allowed  to  look  upon 
the  timid,  humble  profession.  No  wondering  crowd  crowned  the 
overshadowing  hill.  No  hymn  of  praise  expressed  the  exulting 
feeling  of  joyous  hearts.  Stillness  and  solemnity  pervaded  the 
scene.    We  felt,  on  the  banks  of  the  water,  as  a  little,  feeble,  sohtary 


332  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

band.  But,  perhaps,  some  hovering  angels  took  note  of  the 
event  with  more  interest  than  they  witnessed  the  late  coronation." 

It  now  seemed  evident,  that  for  a  vigorous  and  effectual  prose- 
cution of  theu'  labors,  the  favor  of  the  monarch  must  be  obtained. 
Mr.  Judson  and  Mr.  Colman  procured  a  boat  and  started  in  De- 
cember, 1819,  upon  their  voyage  of  five  hundred  miles  up  the  Irra- 
waddy  to  Ava,  the  seat  of  government.  Aware  of  the  necessity 
of  accompanying  their  petition  with  an  offer  of  presents,  they  took 
with  them  a  fine  edition  of  the  Bible  in  six  volumes,  each  volume 
being  covered  with  gold  leaf  and  inclosed  in  a  rich  wrapper. 
They  obtained  access  to  his  Birmese  majesty,  who  listened  with 
apparent  interest  to  the  reading  of  the  petition.  His  answer, 
delivered  through  an  interpreter,  was  as  follows  :  "In  regard  to 
the  objects  of  your  petition,  his  majesty  gives  no  order.  In 
regard  to  your  sacred  books,  his  majesty  has  no  use  for  them  ; 
take  them  away."  Thus  repulsed  and  discouraged,  the  mis- 
sionaries returned  to  Rangoon. 

Mr.  Judson  now  continued  his  labors  with  success,  and  in 
July,  the  number  of  baptized  converts  amounted  to  ten,  only  one 
of  whom  was  a  woman.  Mrs.  Judson  was  suffering  from  a  severe 
attack  of  Uver  complaint,  and  her  husband  accompanied  her  to 
Calcutta,  and  from  thence  to  Serampore  ;  the  appearance  of 
favorable  symptoms  induced  them  to  return  to  the  scene  of  their 
usefulness  in  January,  1821.  But  a  dangerous  relapse  convinced 
Mrs.  Judson  that  recovery  was  impossible  beneath  a  tropical  sun, 
and  induced  her  to  embark  in  August  for  America,  by  way 
of  Calcutta  and  Great  Britain.  She  arrived  in  New  York  in 
September,  1822.  Her  Indian  constitution  could  not  bear  the 
extreme  contrast  presented  by  a  New  England  winter,  and  she 
was  compelled  to  forego  the  delightful  intercourse  with  her 
parents  and  sisters  in  which  she  had  hoped  to  spend  the  few 
months  of  her  sojourn,  and  to  seek  the  more  temperate  meridian 
of  Baltimore.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Wayland,  who  at  this  period  became 
intimately  acquainted  with  her,  thus  speaks  of  her  in  his  Memoir 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  333 

of  her  husband  :  "  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  met  a  more 
remarkable  woman.  To  great  clearness  of  intellect,  large  powers 
of  comprehension,  and  intuitive  female  sagacity,  ripened  by  the 
constant  necessity  of  independent  action,  she  added  that  heroic 
disinterestedness  which  naturally  loses  all  consciousness  of  self 
in  the  prosecution  of  a  great  object.  These  elements,  however, 
were  all  held  in  reserve,  and  were  hidden  from  pubhc  view  by  a 
veil  of  unusual  feminine  delicacy.  To  an  ordinary  observer  she 
would  have  appeared  simply  a  self-possessed,  well-bred  and  very 
intelligent  gentlewoman.  A  more  intimate  acquaintance  would 
soon  discover  her  to  be  a  person  of  profound  religious  feeling, 
which  was  ever  manifesting  itself  in  efforts  to  impress  upon 
others  the  importance  of  personal  piety.  The  resources  of  her 
nature  were  never  unfolded  until  some  occasion  occurred  which 
demanded  delicate  tact,  unflinching  courage,  and  a  power  of 
resolute  endurance  even  unto  death.  When  I  saw  her,  her 
complexion  bore  that  sallow  hue  which  commonly  follows  resi- 
dence in  the  East  Indies.  Her  countenance  at  first  seemed,  when 
in  repose,  deficient  in  expression.  As  she  found  herself  among 
friends  who  were  interested  in  the  Birman  mission,  her  reserve 
melted  away,  her  eye  kindled,  every  feature  was  lighted  up  with 
enthusiasm,  and  she  was  everywhere  acknowledged  to  be  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  of  women." 

In  spite  of  the  opinion  of  her  London  physicians,  that  she 
could  not  live  if  she  returned  to  the  East,  Mrs.  Judson,  some- 
what improved  in  health,  embarked  at  Boston,  in  June,  1823, 
for  Calcutta.  The  voyage  was  propitious,  and  at  the  close  of 
the  year  she  rejoined  Mr.  Judson  at  Rangoon.  She  found  the 
mission  at  the  height  of  its  prosperity — Mr.,  now,  by  the  action 
of  Brown  University,  Dr.  Judson,  having  completed  the  trans- 
lation of  the  New  Testament,  having  gathered  a  church  of 
eighteen  native  members,  and  having  been  strengthened  by  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wade,  and  the  return  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hough.     More  than  all,  the  "religion-propagating  teachers,"  as 


334  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

they  were  called,  had  been  left  unmolested,  and  their  efforts  had 
not  as  yet,  at  least,  awakened  the  spu-it  of  persecution. 

Dr.  Price,  a  newly  arrived  member  of  the  mission,  having 
been  summoned,  in  his  medical  character,  to  the  capital,  Dr. 
Judson  accompanied  him,  and  having  found  favor  with  the  em- 
peror, resolved  to  leave  the  church  at  Rangoon  under  the  care 
of  his  associates,  and  attempt  the  establishment  of  a  station  at 
Ava.  He  felt  impelled  to  this  step  not  only  by  the  natural 
desire  of  bearing  the  message  of  salvation  to  "the  regions 
beyond,"  but  by  the  conviction  that  the  principle  of  toleration, 
exhibited  in  the  sufferance  of  a  Christian  church  in  the  metro- 
polis, would  thus  be  established  for  the  whole  empire.  While 
awaiting  the  return  of  Mrs.  Judson  to  Rangoon,  he  made  the 
necessary  preparations  for  their  passage  up  the  river,  aad  on  her 
arrival  these  were  so  far  completed  that  her  baggage  was  taken 
from  the  ship  to  the  Irrawaddy  boat.  The  ascent  of  this  noble 
stream  through  the  heart  of  a  region  consecrated  to  the  worship 
of  idols,  was  at  once  interesting  and  painful  to  Mrs.  Judson.  Their 
progress  was  slow,  as  the  current  ran  rapidly  ;  but  the  season 
was  cool  and  the  weather  delightful,  and  they  suffered  no  great 
discomfort  during  their  six  weeks'  voyage.  On  arriving  at  Ava, 
they  resolved  to  remain  in  the  boat  till  a  house  could  be  built 
upon  the  land  which  the  king  had  given  Dr.  Judson  upon  his 
previous  visit.  One  fortnight  sufficed  for  the  erection  of  a  build- 
ing, which,  though  affording  them  shelter,  was  no  protection 
against  the  heat,  constructed  entirely,  as  it  was,  of  boards.  Dr. 
Judson  at  once  commenced  his  evening  and  Sabbath  services, 
while  his  wife  proceeded  successfully  with  her  domestic  arrange- 
ments and  her  infant  school. 

War  now  broke  out  between  the  Birman  government  and 
the  East  India  Company  of  Bengal.  Rangoon  was  attacked  in 
May,  1824,  by  an  army  of  6,000  Enghsh  and  native  troops, 
and  surrendered  without  resistance.  The  American  missionaries 
there  underwent   many  perils,   and  finally  escaped  to   Bengal. 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  335 

The  missionaries  at  Ava  at  once  fell  under  suspicion.  Three 
Enghshmen  residing  there  were  arrested,  examined  and  confined. 
Dr.  Judson  was  arrested  on  the  8th  of  June  by  a  posse  of  a 
dozen  men,  one  of  whom  wore  the  garb  of  an  executioner. 
"Where  is  the  teacher?"  was  the  first  inquiry.  Dr.  Judson 
stood  forth.  The  executioner  at  once  seized  him,  threw  him  on 
the  ground,  and  bound  him  with  a  slight,  though  tenacious  whip- 
cord. In  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Judson,  and  of  her 
offers  of  money  to  the  executioner,  they  dragged  him  off  to  the 
court-house,  where  the  king's  order  concerning  him  was  read. 
He  was  thrown  into  the  death-prison,  there  to  await  his  fate. 
Mrs.  Judson,  in  this  terrible  emergency,  did  not  suffer  her 
presence  of  mind  to  desert  her.  Before  submitting  to  the 
examination  which  she  knew  she  would  be  called  upon  to  under- 
go, she  destroyed  all  her  letters  and  the  minute  record  of  daily 
occurrences  it  had  been  her  habit  to  keep.  Otherwise,  they 
would  have  been  exposed  to  an  accusation  of  maintaining  a  cor- 
respondence with  the  enemy,  and  of  furnishing  them  with  regular 
bulletins  of  the  state  of  the  country  and  the  progress  of  events. 
A  guard  of  ten  ruffians  was  posted  before  the  house  ;  the  ser- 
vants were  placed  in  the  stocks,  and  Mrs.  Judson,  with  four  of 
her  Birman  pupils,  was  barred  up  in  an  inner  room.  The  guard 
passed  the  night  in  carousings  and  indecent  revelry. 

Mrs.  Judson  ascertained  the  next  morning  that  her  husband 
and  the  other  white  foreigners  were  confined  in  the  death-prison, 
and  were  manacled  with  three  pairs  of  iron  fetters  each.  Her 
activity,  invention  and  resources,  under  these  harassing  circum- 
stances, display  her  character  in  glowing  colors.  She  besought 
a  magistrate,  to  whom  she  gained  access,  to  allow  her  to  apj)eal 
to  some  responsible  member  of  the  government ;  she  caused  a 
letter  to  be  conveyed  to  the  king's  sister,  in  which,  with  unavail- 
ing eloquence,  she  begged  her  to  sue  for  the  release  of  the 
teachers.  With  presents  of  tea  and  cigars,  she  softened  the 
hearts  of  her  guards,  and  with  the  promise  of  a  rich  offering  to 


336  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

the  governor  of  the  city,  she  obtained  permission  to  speak  to  her 
husband  through  the  bars  of  the  grating.  Dr.  Judson,  heavily- 
ironed  and  stretched  upon  the  bare  floor,  crawled  to  the  half- 
open  door,  and  hastily  gave  her  some  directions  relative  to 
his  release.  She  was  dragged  away  before  any  plan  of  action 
had  been  concerted  between  them.  Milder  councils  seem  now 
to  have  prevailed  in  the  bosoms  of  the  officials,  for  the  foreign 
prisoners  were  removed  that  same  evening  to  an  open  shed  in 
the  prison  inclosure,  where  Mrs.-  Judson,  who  was  not  admitted 
to  see  them,  was  allowed  to  send  them  food  and  mats  to  sleep 
upon. 

The  mission  house  was  now  visited  by  the  fiscal  officers  for 
the  purpose  of  confiscating  any  articles  of  value  they  might  find. 
"Where  are  your  gold  and  jewels?"  asked  the  royal  treasurer. 
"I  have  no  gold  or  jewels,"  Mrs.  Judson  replied,  "but  here 
is  the  key  of  the  trunk  containing  the  silver  ;  do  with  it  as  you 
please.  But  remember,  this  money  was  collected  in  America,  by 
the  disciples  of  Christ,  and  sent  here  for  the  purpose  of  building 
a  house  for  the  teacher,  and  for  our  support  while  teaching  the 
new  religion.  Do  you  think  it  right  to  take  it?"  She  made 
this  inquiry,  well  aware  that  the  Birmans  scrupulously  avoid 
diverting  from  its  destination  money  devoted  to  a  religious 
object.  The  matter  was  laid  before  the  king,  who  ordered  the 
silver  to  be  set  apart,  that  it  might  be  restored  to  the  teacher,  if, 
upon  due  examination,  he  were  found  innocent  of  the  charge  of 
espionage. 

Tor  seven  months  the  situation  of  the  missionaries  remained 
unchanged.  The  keepers  of  the  jjrison  were  all  branded  crimi- 
nals, and  bore  the  name  of  their  offijnce  burned  into  the  flesh 
of  their  foreheads,  cheeks  or  breasts.  The  chief  jailer  was 
familiarly  called  the  tiger  cat ;  and  he  strove  to  deserve  the 
hideous  designation  by  the  playful  ferocity  with  which  he  would 
ply  his  hammer  while  fastening  manacles,  or  affiictionately  clasp 
his  victims  in  his  arms  in  order  to  get  a  better  opportunity  to 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  337 

prick  or  pinch  them.  Mrs.  Judson,  on  one  occasion,  "made  a 
great  effort  to  surprise  her  husband  with  something  that  should 
remind  him  of  home.  She  planned  and  labored,  till,  by  the  aid 
of  buffalo  beef  and  plantains,  she  actually  concocted  a  mince  pie. 
Unfortunately,  as  she  thought,  she  could  not  go  in  person  to  the 
prison  that  day  ;  and  the  dinner  was  brought  by  smiling  Moung 
Ing,  who  seemed  aware  that  some  mystery  must  be  wrapped  up 
in  that  pecidiar  preparation  of  meat  and  fruit,  though  he  had 
never  seen  the  well-spread  boards  of  Plymouth  and  Bradford. 
But  the  pretty  little  artifice  only  added  another  pang  to  a  heart 
whose  susceptibilities  were  as  quick  and  deep,  as,  in  the  light  of 
the  world,  they  were  silent.  He  bowed  his  head  upon  his  knees, 
and  the  tears  flowed  down  to  the  chains  about  his  ankles.  He 
thrust  the  carefully-prepared  dinner  into  the  hands  of  his 
associate,  and  as  fast  as  his  fetters  would  permit,  hurried  to  his 
own  little  shed." 

There  was  hardly  a  single  member  of  the  government,  of 
high  or  low  degree,  to  whom  Mrs.  Judson  did  not  gain  admit- 
tance and  whom  she  did  not  beseech,  in  winning  or  despairing 
accents,  to  intercede  in  her  behalf.  From  stores  which  seemed 
inexhaustible,  she  provided  gifts  with  which  to  meet  the  rapacious 
extortions  of  jailers,  governors,  servants,  and  even  of  the  royal 
family.  The  only  European  female  in  the  place  and  the  only 
foreigner  suffered  to  remain  at  liberty,  she  seems  to  have  been 
providentially  designed  as  the  ministering  angel  of  the  Birman 
prison.  Dr.  Wayland  offers  the  following  tribute  to  her  charac- 
ter and  services  : 

"  Perfectly  familiar  with  the  Birman  language,  of  a  presence 
which  commanded  respect  even  from  savage  barbarians,  and 
encircled  her  with  a  moral  atmosphere  in  which  she  walked 
unharmed  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  city,  with  no  earthly  protec- 
tor, she  was  universally  spoken  of  as  the  guardian  angel  of  that 
band  of  sufferers.  Fertile  in  resources,  and  wholly  regardless  of 
her  own  privations  or  exposure,  she  was  incessantly  occupied  in 

43 


338  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

alleviating  the  pain  or  ministering  to  the  wants  of  those  who  had 
no  other  friends. 

"  Rarely  does  it  happen  that  the  moral  extremes  of  which  our 
nature  is  susceptible  are  brought  into  so  striking  contrast  as  in 
the  present  instance.  On  the  one  hand  might  here  have  been 
seen  the  most  degraded  of  mankind  inflicting  in  sport  the  most 
horrid  cruelties  month  after  month  upon  their  fellow  men,  some 
of  whom  had  sacrified  every  earthly  comfort  for  the  good  of  their 
tormentors  ;  and  on  the  other  hand  there  was  seen,  in  the  midst 
of  this  horde  of  ruffians,  a  lady  whose  intelhgence  and  refinement 
had  lately  won  the  admiration  of  the  highest  circles  of  the  British 
metropolis,  soothing  the  sorrows  of  the  captive,  providing  and 
preparing  food  for  the  starving,  consoling  the  dying  with  words 
of  heavenly  peace  ;  heedless  of  meridian  suns  and  midnight  dews, 
though  surrounded  by  infection,  devoting  herself  with  prodigal 
disinterestedness  to  the  practice  of  heavenly  charity,  and  sustain- 
ing the  courage  of  men  inured  to  danger  and  familiar  with  death 
by  the  example  of  her  own  dauntless  resolution." 

From  an  obituary  poem  written  some  years  later  by  Mrs. 
Sigourney,  we  quote  the  following  lines  : 

"  Stern  sickness  smote  her,  but  she  felt  it  not, 
Heeded  it  not,  and  still  with  tireless  zeal 
Carried  the  hoarded  morsel  to  her  love ; 
Dared  the  rude  arrogance  of  savage  power 
To  plead  for  him,  and  bade  his  dnngeon  glow 
With  her  fair  brow,  as  erst  the  angel's  smile 
Arous'd  imprison'd  Peter,  when  his  hands, 
Loos'd  from  their  chains,  were  lifted  high  in  praise  !" 

The  war  still  continued,  and  was  prosecuted  on  the  part  of 
the  Birmans  with  commendable  energy  but  with  unvarying 
insuccess.  Mrs.  Judson  abandoned  all  hope  of  escape  before  a 
cessation  of  hostilities.  She  spent  several  hours  of  every  day  at 
the  house  of  the  governor,  giving  him  all  information  in  her 
power,   and   asking   in   return   some   slight    alleviation   of  the 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  339 

prisoners'  situation.  At  last,  as  a  great  favor,  she  was  permitted 
to  build  a  bamboo  hovel  in  the  prison  inclosure,  and  here 
Dr.  Judson  passed  the  two  cold  months  of  the  winter.  For 
three  weeks  Mrs.  Judson  was  now  absent  from  the  dungeon,  and 
when  she  returned,  it  was  to  bring  a  pale  and  puny  infant  of 
twenty  days  to  its  father  in  the  prison  yard.  "  No  person,"  says 
an  eye-witness,  "  not  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  secret 
springs  of  feeling  which  made  his  the  richest  heart  that  ever 
beat  in  human  bosom,  would  be  at  all  able  to  appreciate  the 
scene.  His  first  child  slept  beneath  the  waters  of  the  Bay  of 
Bengal,  a  baby-martyr,  without  the  martyr's  conflict ;  ^  the 
second,  his  'meek,  blue-eyed  Roger,'  had  his  bed  in  the  jungle 
graveyard  at  Rangoon ;  and  here  came  the  third  little  wan 
stranger,  to  claim  the  first  parental  kiss  from  the  midst  of  felon 
chains. 

"  Mrs.  Judson  had  long  previous  to  this  adopted  the  Birmese 
style  of  dress.  Her  rich  Spanish  complexion  could  never  be 
mistaken  for  the  tawny  hue  of  the  natives ;  and  her  figure  of  full 
medium  height,  appeared  much  taller  and  more  commanding  in  a 
costume  usually  worn  by  women  of  inferior  size.  But  her  friend, 
the  governor's  wife,  who  presented  her  with  the  dress,  recom- 
mended the  measure  as  a  concession  which  would  be  sure  to 
conciliate  the  people,  and  win  them  to  a  kindher  treatment 
of  her.  Behold  her,  then,  her  dark  curls,  carefully  straightened, 
di'awn  back  from  her  forehead,  and  a  fragrant  cocoa-blossom, 
drooping  like  a  white  plume  from  the  knot  upon  the  crown  ;  her 
saffron  vest  thrown  open  to  display  the  folds  of  crimson  beneath ; 
and  a  rich  silken  skirt,  wrapped  closely  about  her  fine  figure, 
parting  at  the  ankle,  and  sloping  back  upon  the  floor.  The 
clothing  of  the  feet  was  not  Birman,  for  the  native  sandal  could 
not  be  worn  except  upon  a  bare  foot.  Behold  her  standing  in 
the  doorway — for  she  was  never  permitted  to  enter  the  prison — 

'  We  find  no  authority  for  this  statement  whatever;  it  is  doubtless  incorrect. 


340  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

her  little  blue-eyed  blossom  wailing,  as  it  almost  always  did, 
upon  her  bosom,  and  the  chained  father  crawling  forth  to  the 
meeting !" 

Dr.  Judson  whiled  away  a  portion  of  his  prison  hours  in 
composing  a  poetical  address  to  the  daughter  born  under  such 
distressing  auspices.  These  he  committed  to  memory  and  after- 
wards to  paper.  We  select  the  following  stanzas  from  this  sad 
monody  : 

"  Sleep,  darling  infant,  sleep  ; 
May  neaven  its  blessings  shed 
In  rich  profusion,  soft  and  meek. 
On  thine  unconscious  headl 

"Why  ope  thy  little  eyes? 
What  would  my  darling  see? 
Thy  sorrowing  mother's  bending  form? 
Thy  father's  agony  ? 

"  Wouldst  mark  the  dreadful  sights. 
Which  stoutest  hearts  appall — 
The  stocks,  the  cord,  the  fatal  sword, 
The  torturing  iron  mall? 

"  No,  darling  infant,  no ! 
Thou  seest  them  not  at  all ; 

Thou  only  mark'st  the  rays  of  light 
Which  flicker  on  the  wall. 

"Stretch,  then,  thy  little  arms. 
And  roll  thy  vacant  eye. 
Reposing  on  thy  mother's  breast 
In  soft  security. 

"  Ah,  all  alike  to  thee. 
Thy  mother's  grief  or  mirth ; 
Nor  know'st  thou  one  of  all  the  ills 
Which  mark  thy  mournful  birth. 

"  Go,  darling  infant,  go, 
Thine  hour  has  passed  away, 
The  jailer's  harsh,  discordant  voice 
Forbids  thy  longer  stay. 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  341 

"God  grant  tliat  we  may  meet 
In  happier  times  than  this, 
And  with  thine  angel  mother  dear 
Enjoy  domestic  bliss. 

"  And  when,  in  future  years, 
Thou  knowest  thy  fatlier's  tongue. 
These  lines  will  show  theo  how  he  felt, 
How  o'er  his  babe  he  snng." 

The  defeat  of  the  Birman  army,  aud  the  advance  of  the  Eng- 
lish from  Rangoon  up  the  Irrawaddy  towards  Prome,  threw  the 
court  at  Ava  mto  the  utmost  consternation.  The  prisoners  were 
treated  with  renewed  severity,  being  loaded  with  additional  fetters 
and  crowded  hke  sheep  into  close  and  unwholesome  pens.  The 
governor  wept  at  the  appeal  which  Mrs.  Judson  in  tliis  darken- 
ing hour  addressed  him,  but  reiterated  his  inability  to  aid  her. 
Indeed  he  had  received,  he  said,  ordei'S  to  assassinate  the  foreign- 
ers privately,  and  the  most  he  could  do,  in  endeavoring  to  avoid 
the  execution  of  the  order,  was  to  put  them  out  of  sight.  The 
death  of  Bandoola,  the  leader  of  the  army,  plunged  the  city  into 
deeper  anxiety  than  ever  :  one  of  its  immediate  effects  was  the 
removal  of  the  prisoners — a  measure  which  was  announced  to 
Mrs.  Judson  by  one  of  her  attached  servants,  who  came  running 
to  her  with  a  ghastly  countenance,  and,  in  trembling  accents, 
gave  her  the  direful  information.  She  hurried  into  the  streets, 
and  interrogated  the  passers-by  ;  she  hastened  to  the  river  and 
scanned  its  descending  course  ;  she  sent  to  the  place  of  execution 
— that  being  an  errand  she  could  not  perform  herself.  Her  tried 
and  faithful  friend,  the  governor,  condemned  her  to  despair  by 
the  last  words  he  uttered  :  "  You  can  do  nothing  more  for  your 
husband  ;  take  care  of  yourself."  The  heroic  woman  returned 
mechanically  home,  and  for  a  time  her  heart  sank  beneath  this 
accumulation  of  sorrows. 

Gathering  her  courage  once  more,  she  packed  up  the  few  ar- 
ticles of  value  she  possessed,  and  deposited  them  at  the  governor's 


342  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

house.  Then  committing  her  own  cottage  to  the  care  of  two 
servants  whose  wages,  in  this  extremity,  she  was  unable  to 
pay,  and  taking  with  her  her  daughter,  now  three  months  old, 
her  two  adopted  children,  Mary  and  Abby  Hasseltine,  and  her 
Bengalee  cook,  she  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the  river's  course. 
She  obtained  a  covered  boat,  in  which  she  accomplished  two 
miles,  or  half  the  distance  to  Amarapora.  She  then  procured  a 
cart,  in  which,  through  the  blinding  glare  of  the  sun  and  dust, 
she  performed  the  rest  of  the  weary  road.  She  now  learned 
that  the  prisoners  had  been  sent  on  two  hours  before,  and  though 
literally  exhausted  by  fatigue,  she  resolutely  pursued  her  way 
towards  that  "never-to-be-forgotten  place,  Oung-pen-la."  Here, 
beneath  a  low  projection  in  front  of  a  shattered,  roofless  building, 
which  was  called  the  prison,  sat  the  foreigners,  more  dead  than 
alive,  chained  together,  two  by  two.  They  had  been  driven 
barefoot,  beneath  a  mid-day  midsummer  sun,  over  eight  miles  of 
blistering  sand,  from  Ava  to  Oung-pen-la.  The  agony  of  Dr. 
Judson  was  such — for  his  feet  were  cut  to  the  bone— that  he 
longed  to  throw  himself  into  the  river ;  his  horror  of  suicide  alone 
prevented  him.  One  of  their  number  had  succumbed  upon  the 
road.  They  expected  to  be  burned  alive,  a  report  to  that  effect 
having  been  in  circulation  at  Ava  ;  the  view  of  a  dozen  Birmans 
attempting  to  form  a  thatch  of  leaves  for  the  prison,  was  the  first 
intimation  they  had  that  the  building  was  intended  for  their 
permanent  confinement.  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mrs.  Jud- 
son arrived.  "Why  have  you  come  ?"  were  her  husband's  first 
words  ;  "  I  had  hoped  you  would  not  follow,  for  you  cannot  live 
here."  She  had  no  food  either  for  herself,  her  children,  or  the 
prisoners  ;  the  jailer,  however,  took  her  to  his  house,  and  estab- 
lished her  in  one  of  the  two  rooms  which  it  contained — a  mere 
receptacle  for  grain,  of  which  it  was  nearly  full.  Here,  in  the 
midst  of  filth  and  misery,  she  was  destined  to  spend  the  six  next 
wretched  months. 

Another  sore  trial  speedily  came  to  aggravate  her  already 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  343 

desperate  situation :  Mary  Hasseltine,  the  eldest  of  her  adopted 
children,  was  taken  with  the  small  pox  the  day  after  their  arrival. 
In  the  prison  lay  Dr.  Judson,  his  feet  so  dreadfully  mangled  that 
he  coxold  not  move  ;  at  home,  pillowed  amongst  the  grain,  lay 
httle  Mary,  a  Birman  orphan,  tended  by  a  Christian  nurse, 
delirious  with  fever,  and  so  horribly  disfigured  that  her  face 
became  one  festering  scar.  Backwards  and  forwards  from  the 
pen  to  the  prison  went  Mrs.  Judson,  carrying  food  to  the  one 
and  comfort  to  the  other,  bearing  her  infant  in  her  arms  from 
morn  to  eve,  and  sleeping  at  night  upon  a  bamboo  mat.  She 
inoculated  Abby  Hasseltine  and  the  jailer's  children,  whose  play 
was  hardly  interrupted  by  the  scourge  thus  modified.  Her  fame 
spread,  and  all  the  children  in  the  village,  big  and  little,  came  to 
her  for  inoculation.  In  spite  of  previous  vaccination,  she  herself 
caught  the  contagion ;  and  her  baby,  exposed  at  the  same 
moment  to  infection  and  to  the  effects  of  inoculation,  took 
the  disease  in  its  severer  form,  and  was  for  three  months  a 
sufferer. 

At  last  the  children  recovered  and  Dr.  Judson  revived  ;  and 
then  Mrs.  Judson  sank.  Fatigue,  anxiety,  miserable  and  insuffi- 
cient food,  broken  and  comfortless  rest,  had  borne  their  inevit- 
able fruits.  Her  constitution  seemed  destroyed,  and  she  could 
no  longer  go  upon  her  daily  ei'rand  of  mercy  to  the  prison.  She 
obtained  an  ox-cart  and  set  ofi"  for  Ava ;  there,  with  some 
difficulty,  she  procured  the  medicine-chest  she  had  left  with  the 
governor.  By  repeated  doses  of  laudanum  she  checked  the 
immediate  progress  of  the  disease  ;  but  feeling  herself  past 
recovery,  she  returned  to  Oung-pen-la,  to  die  near  the  prison. 
The  Bengalee  cook  burst  into  tears  as  he  saw  her  wasted  form. 
She  crawled  on  to  the  mat  in  the  grain-room,  and  there,  in  a 
situation  shocking  to  humanity  and  sickening  to  the  soul,  she 
remained  for  seven  weeks,  her  iron  constitution  battling  with  a 
disease  which  rarely  spared  the  native  and  showed  no  mercy  to 
the  foreigner.     During  this  illness  occurred  an  affecting  incident, 


344  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

to  parallel  which  one  might  ransack  the  history  of  mankind  in 
vain. 

Mrs.  Judson's  illness  deprived  her  little  Maria,  who  was  still 
a  nursing  infant,  of  her  usual  nourishment,  and  neither  nurse 
nor  milk  were  to  be  procured  in  the  village.  The  jailer,  whether 
touched  by  the  utter  misery  of  the  family,  or  moved  by  the  offer 
of  presents  which  the  mother  made  him,  suffered  Dr.  Judson, 
whom  he  released  for  an  hour  or  two  from  prison  upon  a  Christ- 
ian parole,  to  take  the  emaciated  child  in  his  arms  and  carry 
her  from  house  to  house,  though  still  with  a  few  inches  of  chain 
between  his  shackled  feet,  begging  a  little  nourishment  from 
compassionate  mothers  who  had  children  at  the  breast!  The 
armals  of  Rome  and  Lacedtemon  furnish  no  such  harrowing  picture 
as  this  missionary  sketch  from  Oung-pen-la. 

The  Birmese  government  experiencing  great  inconvenience 
from  the  want  of  a  rehable  interpreter  and  translator  in  their 
negotiations  with  the  victorious  troops  of  Sir  Archibald  Camp- 
bell, resolved  to  employ  Dr.  Judson  in  that  capacity,  and  sum- 
moned him  to  Ava.  His  family  followed  him,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  was  sent  to  Maloun,  where,  though  very  ill  of 
fever  and  suffering  every  conceivable  torture,  he  spent  six 
weeks  in  translating,  and  rendering  other  similar  services  to  the 
army.  Mrs.  Judson,  during  his  absence,  was  seized  with  that 
fearful  tropical  disease,  the  spotted  fever  ;  knowing  that  her 
constitution  was  shattered,  and  that  she  could  expect  no  proper 
medical  assistance,  she  made  up  her  mind  that  the  attack  would 
be  fatal.  The  release  of  Dr.  Price,  however,  from  prison,  at  this 
juncture,  and  his  presence  at  her  bedside,  doubtless  aided  her 
recovery.  Her  hair  was  shaven ;  her  head  and  feet  were 
covered  with  blisters  ;  she  lost  her  reason  and  refused  nourish- 
ment. Her  Birmese  neighbors  gathered  around  her,  that  they 
might  see  a  Christian  die;  "she  is  dead,"  they  said,  in  their 
hyperbolic  language;  "and  if  the  King  of  Angels  should  come 
in,  he  could  not  recover  her." 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  345 

Nevertheless,  the  fever  turned,  and  in  a  month  Mrs.  Judson 
was  again  able  to  walk.  Dr.  Judson  was  now  sent  back  from 
Maloun  to  Ava,  the  officer  who  conducted  him  bearing  the  fol- 
lowing communication  respecting  him  from  the  camp  to  the 
court:  "We  have  no  further  use  for  Yoodthan  ;  we  therefore 
return  him  to  the  Golden  City."  The  functionary  before  whom 
he  was  brought  was  upon  the  point  of  dispatching  him  to  Oung- 
pen-la,  when  the  governor  of  the  north  gate,  wrought  upon  by 
Mrs.  Judson's  tearful  entreaties,  offered  himself  as  his  security, 
obtained  his  release,  and  received  both  him  and  Mrs.  Judson  as 
guests  beneath  his  roof.  We  have  now  arrived  at  the  close  of 
this  long  catalogue  of  persecutions  and  calamities. 

The  triumphant  advance  of  the  English  compelled  the  Bu-- 
mese  government  to  treat  with  the  enemy  in  order  to  save  the 
city.  Dr.  Price  and  Dr.  Judson  were  both  made  to  act  as  com- 
missioners on  behalf  of  the  King  of  Ava,  and  returned  with  the 
conditions  which  Sir  Archibald  Campbell  attached  to  his  promise 
to  leave  the  capital  unharmed.  One  of  these  was  the  release  of 
all  the  foreigners  in  the  city ;  and  in  virtue  of  this  clause.  Dr. 
and  Mrs.  Judson  and  their  daughter  took  an  affectionate  leave 
of  the  governor,  who  had  so  often  befriended  them,  and  bade 
farewell  forever  to  the  banks  of  Ava.  "  It  was  on  a  cool,  moon- 
light evening,  in  the  month  of  March,  that  with  hearts  filled  with 
gratitude  to  God,  and  overflowing  with  joy  at  our  prospects,  we 
passed  down  the  Irrawaddy,  surrounded  by  six  or  eight  golden 
boats  and  accompanied  by  all  we  had  on  earth.  "We  now,  for 
the  first  time  for  more  than  a  year  and  a  half,  felt  that  we  were 
free,  and  no  longer  subject  to  the  oppressive  yoke  of  the  Bir- 
mese.  And  with  what  sensations  of  delight,  on  the  next  morn- 
ing, did  I  behold  the  masts  of  the  steamboat,  the  sure  presage 
of  being  within  the  bounds  of  civilized  life!"  Some  months 
later.  Dr.  Judson,  after  hstening  to  a  series  of  anecdotes  of  what 
different  men  in  different  ages  had  regarded  as  examples  of  the 
highest  possible  sensuous  enjoyment,  said:  "Pooh!  these  men 


346  ANNE     HASSELTINE     JUDSON. 

were  not  qualified  to  judge.  I  know  of  a  much  higher  pleasure 
than  that.  What  do  you  think  of  floating  down  the  Irrawaddy 
on  a  cool,  moonlit  evening,  with  your  wife  by  your  side  and  your 
baby  in  your  arms,  free,  all  free  ?  But  you  cannot  understand 
it  either  ;  it  needs  a  twenty-one  months'  quahfication  ;  and  I  can 
never  regret  my  twenty-one  months  of  misery,  when  I  recall 
that  one  delicious  thrill.  I  think  I  have  had  a  better  apprecia- 
tion of  what  heaven  may  be  ever  since." 

Mrs.  Judson,  whose  fame  had  jireceded  her  to  the  English 
camp  of  Yandabo,  was  received  with  pax'ental  kindness  by  Sir 
Archibald,  and  with  military  honors  by  his  officers.  She  was  fur- 
nished with  a  tent  larger  and  more  commodious  than  that  of  the 
general,  with  the  delightful  addition  of  a  verandah.  She  felt 
that  her  obligations  towards  him  could  never  be  cancelled,  and 
presumed  that  no  persons  on  earth  were  ever  happier  than  she 
and  her  husband  during  the  fortnight  which  followed.  A  remark- 
able exemplification  of  the  vicissitudes  of  life  might  have  been 
witnessed  at  a  dinner  given  some  days  afterwards  to  the  Birman 
Commissioners.  At  sight  of  Mrs.  Judson,  seated  at  the  general's 
right  hand,  and  evidently  an  honored  and  influential  guest,  they 
shrunk  into  their  seats  with  faces  blank  with  consternation. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  yonder  owner  of  the  pointed  beard  ?" 
asked  Sir  Archibald.  "I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  "  unless 
his  memory  may  be  too  busy."  Upon  being  urged  to  describe 
the  circumstances  which,  doubtless,  caused  the  ambassador's 
alarm,  she  related  how  she  had  once  walked  five  miles  to  his 
house,  to  ask  some  favor  for  her  husband,  who  was  suffering 
with  fever  in  prison,  with  five  pairs  of  fetters  about  his  ankles. 
He  roughly  refused  her  request,  and  at  the  same  time,  noticing 
her  silk  umbrella,  seized  upon  it  and  snatched  it  from  her  hands. 
She  begged  him  to  give  her  in  exchange  at  least  a  paper  parasol, 
to  protect  her  from  the  scorching  heat.  He  jestingly  replied  that 
stout  people  alone  were  hable  to  sunstrokes,  while  she  was  so 
thin  as  hardly  to  cast  a  shadow !     He  then  drove  her  from  the 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  347 

door.  The  English  officers  did  not  attempt  to  restrain  their  in- 
dignation, at  this  narrative  ;  the  trembling  subject  of  it,  perfectly 
aware  of  what  was  passing  and  clammy  with  perspiration,  sat  in 
abject  fear  of  immediate  death.  Mrs.  Judson,  after  a  mischievous, 
but  momentary,  enjoyment  of  his  dismay,  whispered  to  him,  in 
Birmese,  that  she  had  forgiven  him  and  that  he  had  nothing  to 
fear. 

The  Judsons  soon  descended  the  Irrawaddy  to  Rangoon,  their 
former  home,  now  in  possession  of  the  English.  On  their  way 
down  the  stream,  they  noticed  a  signal  of  distress  from  the  shore. 
It  proved  to  be  Lieut.  Campbell,  who  had  been  robbed,  wounded 
and  deserted  by  his  own  boatmen.  He  Avas  taken  on  board  and 
tenderly  cared  for.  He  afterwards  wrote  the  following  account 
of  his  sojourn  upon  the  Irrawaddy  boat :  "  My  eyes  first  rested 
on  the  thin,  attenuated  form  of  a  lady — a  white  lady !  the  first  I 
had  seen  for  more  than  a  year  ;  and  now  the  soothing  accents  of 
female  words  fell  upon  my  ears  like  a  household  hymn  of  my 
youth.  My  wound  was  tenderly  dressed,  my  head  bound  up, 
and  I  was  laid  upon  a  sofa  bed.  With  what  a  thankful  heart  did 
I  breathe  forth  a  blessing  on  those  good  Samaritans !  With 
what  delight  did  I  drink  in  the  mild,  gentle  sounds  of  that  sweet 
woman's  voice,  as  she  pressed  me  to  recruit  my  strength  with 
some  of  that  beverage  '  which  cheers  but  not  inebriates  !'  She 
was  seated  in  a  large  sort  of  swinging  chair,  of  American  con- 
struction, in  which  her  slight,  emaciated,  but  gi'aceful  form  ap- 
peared almost  ethereal.  Yet,  with  much  of  heaven,  there  were 
still  the  breathings  of  earthty  feeling  about  her  ;  for  at  her  feet 
rested  a  babe,  a  little,  wan  baby,  on  which  her  eyes  often  turned 
with  all  a  mother's  love ;  and  gazing  frequently  vipon  her  delicate 
features,  with  a  fond,  yet  fearful  glance,  was  that  meek  mission- 
ary, her  husband.  Her  face  was  pale,  very  pale,  with  that  ex- 
pression of  deep,  sad,  serious  thought  which  speaks  of  the  strong 
and  vigorous  mind  within  the  frail  and  perishing  body  ;  her 
brown  hair  was  braided  over  a  placid  and  holy  brow  ;  but  her 


348  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

bauds — those  small,  lily  hands — were  quite  beautiful ;  beautiful 
they  were  and  very  wan ;  for,  ah  !  they  told  of  disease,  of  death, 
death  in  all  its  transparent  grace,  when  the  sickly  blood  shines 
through  the  clear  skin,  even  as  the  bright  poison  lights  up  the 
Venetian  glass  it  is  about  to  shatter. 

"  I  remained  two  days  with  them  ;  two  delightful  days  they 
were  to  me.  Mrs.  Judson's  powers  of  conversation  were  of  the 
first  order,  and  the  many  affecting  anecdotes  that  she  gave  us  of 
their  long  and  ci'uel  bondage,  their  struggles  in  the  cause  of  reli- 
gion, and  their  adventures  during  a  long  residence  at  the  court 
of  Ava,  gained  a  heightened  interest  from  the  beautiful  and  ener- 
getic simplicity  of  her  language,  as  well  as  from  the  certainty  I  felt 
that  so  fragile  a  flower  as  she  in  very  truth  was,  had  but  a  brief 
season  to  linger  on  earth.  When  I  looked  my  last  on  her  mild, 
wan  countenance,  as  she  issued  some  instructions  to  my  new  set 
of  boatmen,  I  felt  my  eyes  fill  with  prophetic  tears.  They  were 
not  perceived.  We  never  met  again  ;  nor  is  it  likely  that  the 
wounded  subaltern  was  ever  thought  of  again  by  those  who  had 
succored  him." 

Upon  their  arrival  at  Rangoon,  the  Judsons  found  the  city 
invested  by  the  revolted  Peguans,  the  mission  house  in  ruins, 
and  the  converts  scattered  to  the  winds.  It  became  necessary, 
therefore,  to  seek  a  new  station  for  their  labor  of  love.  A  site 
having  been  selected  by  the  English  civil  commissioner  as  the 
capital  of  the  provinces  ceded  to  Great  Britain,  and  having 
received  the  name  of  Amherst  in  compliment  to  the  governor- 
general  of  the  East  India  Company,  they  determined  to  be  its 
first  settlers.  They  took  down  the  zayat  and  sent  the  boards 
forward  to  be  again  put  up  in  a  similar  form.  On  arriving 
at  the  station,  Captain  Fenwick,  in  command  there,  at  once  gave 
up  his  house  to  Mrs.  Judson,  and  withdrew  to  a  tent  in  the 
cantonment.  They  found  several  huts  already  built  by  the  con- 
verts who  had  preceded  them  in  colonizing  this  wildest  of  Birman 
jungles.     During  the  rainy  season  the  infant  settlement  made 


ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  349 

steady  progress,  comprising  fifty  houses,  exclusive  of  the  bar- 
racks, by  the  end  of  July.  Dr.  Judson  was  now  called  away  by 
business  connected  with  the  government.  He  seems  to  have  left 
his  home  without  prophetic  intimation  that  he  was  bidding  an  eter- 
nal farewell  to  her  who  had  preserved  his  days  upon  earth  and 
had  aided  him  in  making  his  name  immortal.  They  parted, 
indeed,  confident  of  a  speedy  reunion,  and  looking  upon  the 
coming  separation  as  a  comparatively  light  trial,  after  their  many 
dangers  and  vicissitudes. 

She  at  once,  upon  his  departure,  commenced  the  construction 
of  a  permanent  building  for  their  residence.  Into  this  she 
moved  on  the  14th  of  September,  and  on  that  day  wrote  to 
Dr.  Judson  the  last  letter  he  ever  received  from  her.  "  For  the 
first  time  since  we  were  broken  up  at  Ava,"  she  said,  "I  feel 
myself  at  home.  Poor  little  Maria  is  still  feeble.  I  sometimes 
hope  she  is  getting  better ;  then  again  she  declines  to  her  former 
weakness.     When  I  ask  her  where  papa  is,  she  always  starts  up 

and  points  towards  the  sea May  God  preserve  and 

bless  you,  is  the  prayer  of  your  affectionate  Anne."  She  was 
soon  afterwards  attacked  by  remittent  fever.  From  the  first  she 
felt  a  strong  presentiment  that  she  should  not  recover.  Captain 
Fenwick  procured  her  a  physician  and  a  European  nurse  from 
the  forty-fifth  regiment,  and  everything  which  it  was  possible  to 
do  in  that  savage  wilderness,  was  readily  and  zealously  done. 
From  time  to  time  the  fever  abated,  but  its  last  approach  no 
medical  skill  could  avei't.  She  lay  for  two  days,  senseless  and 
motionless,  on  one  side,  her  head  reclining  on  one  arm,  her  eyes 
closed.  Her  last  word  was  an  exclamation  of  distress  in  the 
Birman  language,  and  at  eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the 
24th  of  October,  she  ceased  to  breathe.  The  assistant  super- 
intendent of  Amherst  placed  her  remains  in  the  coffin  prepared 
to  receive  them,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  25th,  her  funeral  took 
place.  It  was  attended  by  all  the  European  officers  of  the 
station,  and  the  first  female  American  missionary  went  to  her 


350  ANNE    HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

long  home  under  a  British  military  escort,  but  unaccompanied  by 
a  single  friend  born  upon  the  same  hemisphere  with  herself,  and 
with  perhaps  not  a  professor  of  religion  in  the  procession.  She 
was  buried  beneath  a  hopia  tree,  about  fifty  rods  from  the  house 
where  she  had  resided  ;  a  small  rude  fence  was  erected  around 
the  grave,  to  protect  it  from  incautious  intrusion.  Intelligence 
did  not  reach  Mr.  Judson  of  "  the  catastrophe  which  had 
deprived  him  of  one  of  the  first  of  women  and  the  best  of 
wives,"  till  late  in  November,  and  shortly  after  his  return  to 
Amherst  to  weep  over  her  grave,  inexorable  fate  called  upon 
him  to  consign  to  it  the  mortal  remains  of  his  last  and  still 
infant  child.  "  Together,"  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Hasseltine,  at 
Bradford,  "they  rest  in  hope,  under  the  hope  tree,  which 
stands  at  the  head  of  their  graves  ;  and  together,  I  trust, 
their  spirits  are  rejoicing  after  a  short  separation  of  precisely 
six  months." 

The  Board  of  Missions  did  not  allow  the  grave  of  Mrs.  Judson 
to  remain  without  a  proper  tumular  tribute  to  her  worth.  A 
marble  tablet  was  procured  and  sent  out  to  Amherst,  where  it 
was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Christian  mound.  One  phrase  of 
the  brief  biography  carved  upon  it  read  thus  :  "  She  arrived, 
with  her  husband,  at  Rangoon,  in  July,  1813  ;  and  there  com- 
menced those  missionary  toils  which  she  sustained  with  such 
Christian  fortitude,  decision  and  perseverance,  amid  scenes  of 
civil  commotion  and  personal  affliction,  as  won  for  her  universal 
respect  and  affection."  In  any  other  form  than  that  of  an 
inscription,  where  severity  of  style  and  a  strict  adherence  to 
facts  are  essential  to  good  taste,  this  language  would  have  been 
totally  inadequate. 

The  American  reader  will  hardly  need  to  be  told,  after 
perusing  this  succinct  account  of  the  character,  achievements  and 
sufierings  of  Mrs.  Judson,  that  his  country  has  never  produced 
her  superior.  She  was  highly  intellectual  and  yet  delicately 
feminine  ;  scrupulously  religious,  and  yet  free  from  asceticism  or 


ANNE     HASSELTINE    JUDSON.  351 

bigotry  ;  chivalrous  without  temerity ;  of  undaunted  perseverance 
and  heroic  courage,  rising  superior,  at  the  call  of  duty,  to  the 
fear  of  peril  or  the  certainty  of  death,  amidst  dangers  and  per- 
plexities unparalleled  in  the  history  of  modern  missions  ;  she 
was  a  model  of  conjugal  affection,  maternal  devotion,  and  mis- 
sionary ardor.  If  the  question  were  asked  why,  thirty  years 
after  her  death,  she  does  not  enjoy  that  jiopular  renown  which 
has  been  the  portion  of  many  inferior  women,  we  might  answer 
that  it  is  in  a  measure  owing  to  the  fact  that  her  vii-tues  were 
exhibited  upon  a  field  in  which  all  mankind  do  not  acknowledge 
the  propriety  or  the  necessity  of  laboring  ;  partly  to  the  fact 
that  one  rehgious  denomination  is  not  apt  to  herald  and  rejoice 
in  the  merits  and  successes  of  another,  and  that  Mrs.  Judson 
is  thus,  outside  of  her  own  church,  represented,  not  as  the 
heroine  of  Christianity,  but  as  the  enthusiast  of  a  sect ;  not  as 
the  pioneer  of  a  faith,  but  as  the  teacher  of  a  creed ;  and  again, 
to  the  indisputable  fact  that  the  mass  of  a  nation  are  not  easily 
wrought  upon  by  influences  gathered  in  lands  so  remote  as 
Birmah,  or  in  pursuits  so  seemingly  illusory  as  the  saving  of  hea- 
then souls.  The  world  has  read  with  more  emotion  of  the  philan- 
thropy of  Florence  Nightingale  than  of  the  martyrdom  of  Anne 
Hasseltine  ;  she  who  nursed  Caucasians  at  Scutari  will  be  ever 
more  famiharly  famous  than  she  who  ransomed  Malays  at  Ran- 
goon ;  the  Angelic  Vestal  of  the  hospitals  upon  the  Bosphorus 
will  enjoy  more  enduring  honors  than  the  Apostle  of  the  zayat 
of  Chin-India. 

It  has  been  eloquently  said  of  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Judson, 
that  "it  will  be  cherished  in  the  churches  of  Birmah,  when 
the  pagodas  of  Gaudama  shall  have  fallen ;  when  the  spires  of 
Christian  temples  shall  gleam  along  the  waters  of  the  Irrawaddy 
and  the  Salwen  ;  and  when  the  Golden  City  shall  have  lifted 
up  her  gates  to  let  the  King  of  Glory  in."  Others,  less  sanguine 
in  the  missionary  cause,  will  doubtless  feel  that  the  actual  and 
more  useful  sphere  of  Mrs.  Judson's  influence  is  and  will  be  at 


352  ANNE     HASSELTINE    JUDSON. 

home,  with  the  church,  with  the  Christian,  with  the  professor  and 
the  convert,  with  pastors  and  their  flocks,  with  all,  indeed,  whose 
inquiries  may  be  directed,  whose  faith  sustained,  whose  trials 
sanctified  and  whose  life  chastened,  by  the  contemplation  of  an 
inspiring  and  radiant  example. 


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CHARLOTTE    BRONTE 


Charlotte  Bronte  was  the  third  of  six  children,  and  was 
born  a,t  Thornton,  in  the  parish  of  Bradford,  Yorkshire,  on  the 
21st  of  April,  1816.  Four  years  afterwards,  her  parents  re- 
moved to  Haworth,  her  father,  the  Rev.  Patrick  Bronte,  having 
been  appointed  curate  of  the  village.  Of  the  six  children, 
the  eldest,  Maria,  was  but  a  few  months  over  six  years  old  ; 
their  mother,  always  delicate,  of  late  an  invalid,  and  now  sinking 
under  the  constant  drains  upon  her  strength,  kept  her  room, 
rarely  seeing  her  infant  boys  and  girls,  and  unrepiningly  await- 
ing the  event  which  was  to  make  them  motherless.  The  father, 
not  naturally  fond  of  children,  spent  his  time  either  in  his 
study  or  by  the  bedside  of  his  wife,  and  saw  as  little  of  them 
as  she.  They  were  thus  left  to  themselves,  and  their  favorite 
occupation  was  to  wander  hand  in  hand  over  the  bleak  and 
heathery  moors  which  sloped  upward  from  the  parsonage. 

The  portion  of  his  society  which  Mr.  Bronte  spared  them 
was  not  calculated  to  inspire  them  with  the  geniality  natural 
to  childhood.  He  gave  them  nothing  but  potatoes  for  dinner — 
not  that  he  could  aflford  them  no  other  diet,  but  because  he 
wished  to  bring  them  up  in  simple  and  hardy  habits.  He  sought 
to  render  them  indifferent  to  dress,  and  on  one  occasion  seeing 

45  853 


354  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

a  row  of  tiny  boots  warming  before  the  fire,  he  committed  them 
to  the  flames,  because  the  legs  were  made  of  colored,  and  conse- 
quently coquettish,  leather.  He  found  a  silk  dress  in  his  wife's 
drawer,  in  which  she  had  inadvertently  left  the  key,  and  con- 
sidering it  a  shade  too  gay,  he  cut  it  into  shreds.  When  he  was 
angry,  he  sternly  repressed  the  rising  expletive,  but  took  his 
revenge  by  firing  pistols  out  of  the  back-door,  as  fast  as  he  could 
load  them.  Mrs.  Bronte,  who  was  patiently  dying  up  stairs, 
would  endeavor  in  vain  to  defend  her  ears  from  the  annoying 
detonations.  The  reverend  gentleman's  wrath  seems  always  to 
have  been  speechless,  and  he  appears  to  have  argued  that  his 
duty  as  a  Christian  merely  required  him  to  suppress  his  rage  in 
its  first  outward  manifestation,  allowing  him  to  give  it  full  career 
in  any  secondary  form.  Thus,  he  dispensed  with  objurgation, 
but  he  fired  pistols  instead  ;  he  condemned  the  unruly  member 
to  silence,  but  he  crammed  the  hearth-rug  up  the  chimney  in 
compensation,  and  made  the  house  odious  with  the  smell  of 
burning  woollen  ;  he  suppressed  the  hasty  word,  and  then  con- 
sidered himself  entitled  to  saw  the  chairs  in  halves  and  render 
his  home  intolerable.  Mrs.  Gaskell,  the  biographer  of  Charlotte, 
styles  this  "antique  simplicity." 

Mrs.  Bronte  died  in  1821,  and  the  six  childi'en  became  more 
retiring  and  spiritless  than  before.  The  father  dined  alone,  in 
order,  we  are  told,  to  avoid  temptation  at  the  children's  table, 
as  he  was  compelled  to  be  very  careful  of  his  diet ;  but  as  his 
daughters'  only  food  at  that  meal  consisted  of  potatoes,  it  is  fair 
to  suppose  Mr.  Bronte  influenced  by  some  other  cause — perhaps 
misanthropy,  perhaps  eccentricity.  The  children  had  no  play- 
mates nor  companions  whatever.  This  isolation  attached  them 
more  strongly  to  each  other,  while  it  rendered  them  precocious 
and  old  before  their  time.  They  had  no  books  suited  to  their 
age,  and  solemnly  read  the  London  Times  with  the  dimpling  and 
pouting  mouths  sacred  from  time  immemorial  to  Red  Riding 
Hood  and  Little  Bo  Peep. 


CHAKLOTTE    BRONTE.  355 

In  July,  1824,  Mr.  Bronte  sent  Maria  and  Elizabeth  to  a 
school  at  Cowan's  Bridge,  established  for  the  education  of  clergy- 
men's daughters,  and  in  September  of  the  same  year,  took 
Charlotte  and  Emily.  This  is  the  school  branded  under  the 
name  of  Lowood  in  Jane  Eyre.  Here  the  four  wretched  girls 
endured  miseries  the  consequences  of  which,  upon  their  minds 
and  bodies,  were  visible  in  their  whole  after  lives.  Their  food 
was  so  loathsome,  that  they  often  preferred  starving  to  touching 
it ;  their  long  shivering  walks  to  service  on  Sundays  in  winter, 
where  they  sat  chattering  in  a  damp,  unwarmed  church,  and 
eating  a  cold  dinner  between  the  sermons,  was  to  them  the  most 
comfortless  day  in  the  whole  trying  week ;  then'  sleeping  rooms 
were  crowded  and  badly  ventilated,  and  at  least  one  of  the 
teachers,  whom  Jane  Eyre  impales  under  the  name  of  Miss 
Scatcherd,  was  a  sour  and  merciless  task-mistress.  Maria  and 
Ehzabeth  Bronte  sank  under  the  unchristian  treatment  and  the 
foul  diet  of  this  seminary.  They  were  taken  home  by  their 
father,  who  had  not  been  even  aware  of  their  illness,  and  both 
died  m  the  year  1825,  one  in  the  spring,  the  other  in  the  sum- 
mer. Charlotte  thus  became  the  eldest  daughter  and  the  re- 
sponsible sister  at  the  age  of  nine  years.  She  returned  with 
Emily  to  Cowan's  Bridge  immediately  after  the  death  of  Elizabeth, 
the  father  being  evidently  ignorant  of  the  dangerous  character 
of  the  institution.  They  remained  there,  however,  but  a  few 
months,  being  removed  before  their  situation,  already  precarious, 
became  altogether  hopeless. 

The  household  now  consisted  of  the  following  persons :  of 
Mr.  Bronte,  still  solitary  and  morose  ;  of  his  wife's  elder  sister. 
Miss  Branwell,  a  conscientious  and  kindly  woman,  though  preju- 
diced and  precise,  who  had  been  invited  to  superintend  the  fa- 
mily ;  of  Tabby,  a  deaf  and  dumb,  though  attached,  old  woman  ; 
of  Patrick  Branwell  Bronte,  a  boy  of  great  promise  and  pre- 
cocious development  ;  of  Emily  and  Anne,  playmates  and 
companions,  and  of  Charlotte,  the  motherly  sister  of  the  three 


356  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

motherless  children.  Their  occupations  and  sports  seem  to  have 
been  exclusively  sedentary  and  literary  ;  they  wrote  and  acted 
plays,  edited  magazines,  and  composed  romances,  tales  and 
poems.  By  the  middle  of  the  year  1830,  Charlotte,  now  four- 
teen years  old,  had  accumulated  twenty-two  volumes  of  her 
own  manuscripts,  all  of  which  were  carefully  labelled,  cata- 
logued and  preserved.  Her  writing  was  so  exceedingly  minute, 
that  no  compositor  could  have  deciphered  it  without  the  aid 
of  a  magnifying  glass.  The  published  fac-simile  of  a  page  re- 
minds one  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  scratched  upon 
a  ten  cent  piece.  A  fragment  of  her  composition  at  this  pe- 
riod gives  the  list  of  the  painters  whose  works  she  desired  to 
see.  Among  them  were  Guido,  Titian,  Raphael,  Michael  Angelo, 
Correggio,  da  Vinci,  Vandyke,  Rubens,  and  Fra  Bartolomeo. 
She  had  at  this  time,  of  course,  never  seen  a  painting  in  her 
life  to  which  one  could  conscientiously  apply  the  name. 

The  biographer  of  Charlotte  Bronte  gives  the  following  de- 
scription of  her  personal  appearance  at  the  age  of  fifteen  : 
"  She  was  a  quiet,  thoughtful  girl,  very  small  in  figure— 
'  stunted '  was  the  word  she  applied  to  herself — but  as  her  limbs 
and  head  were  in  just  proportion  to  the  slight,  fragile  body,  no 
word  in  ever  so  slight  a  degree  suggestive  of  deformity,  could 
properly  be  applied  to  her  ;  with  soft,  thick,  brown  hair,  and  pe- 
cuhar  eyes,  of  which  I  find  it  difficult  to  give  a  description,  as 
they  appeared  to  me  in  her  later  life.  They  were  large  and 
well-shaped  :  their  color  a  reddish  brown  ;  but  if  the  iris  was 
closely  examined,  it  appeared  to  be  composed  of  a  great  variety 
of  tints.  The  usual  expression  was  of  quiet,  listening  intelli- 
gence ;  but  now  and  then,  on  some  just  occasion  for  vivid  in- 
terest or  wholesome  indignation,  a  light  would  shine  out  as 
if  some  spiritual  lamp  had  been  kindled,  which  glowed  behind 
those  expressive  orbs.  I  never  saw  the  like  in  any  other  hu- 
man creature.  As  for  the  rest  of  her  features,  they  were  plain, 
large  and  ill  set  ;   but,  unless  you  began  to  catalogue  them,  you 


CHARLOTTE    BEONTE.  357 

were  hardly  aware  of  the  fact,  for  the  eyes  and  power  of  the 
couiiteuaiice  overbalanced  every  physical  defect ;  the  crooked 
mouth  and  the  large  nose  were  forgotten,  and  the  whole  face 
arrested  the  attention,  and  presently  attracted  all  those  whom 
she  herself  would  have  cared  to  attract.  Her  hands  and  feet 
were  the  smallest  I  ever  saw ;  when  one  of  the  former  was  placed 
in  mine,  it  was  like  the  soft  touch  of  a  bird  in  the  middle  of  my 
palm.  The  delicate  long  fingers  had  a  peculiar  fineness  of  sensa- 
tion, which  was  one  reason  why  all  her  handiwork,  of  whatever 
kind — writing,  sewing,  knitting — was  so  clear  in  its  minuteness. 
She  was  remarkably  neat  in  her  whole  personal  attire." 

In  January  of  the  year  1831,  Charlotte  Bronte  again  went  to 
school,  but  not  at  the  deadly  seminary  of  Cowan's  Bridge.  The 
scene  of  her  studies  was  now  Roe  Head,  some  twenty  miles  from 
Haworth,  an  old-fashioned,  roomy,  cheerful  country  house,  in 
which  the  Misses  Wooler  kept  a  girls'  academy.  The  neighbor- 
hood was  romantic,  the  scenery  bright  and  chequered,  the  cli- 
mate airy  and  bracing.  Beneath  a  mouldering  stone  in  a  conti- 
guous park,  in  the  midst  of  secular  yew  trees,  were  believed  to 
repose  the  remains  of  Robin  Hood  ;  not  far  off  was  Lady  Anne's 
Well,  where  the  lady  was  long  since  eaten  by  wolves — the  water 
of  the  fountain  becoming  possessed  of  remarkable  medicinal  pro- 
perties every  Palm  Sunday,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  the 
ghost  of  a  certain  reprobate  Captain  Batt  haunted  a  lane  which 
crossed  a  desolate  common,  while  a  bloody  footprint,  in  a  bed- 
chamber of  Oakwell  Hall,  lent  a  fearful  interest  to  that  ancestral 
mansion.  Indeed,  so  prevailing  did  such  superstitions  seem  to 
be  at  Roe  Head  and  its  vicinity,  that  the  pupils  of  Miss  Wooler 
invented  a  ghost  for  their  own  private  horror,  and  located  her — 
for  a  rustling  silk  gown  betrayed  her  sex — in  an  unoccupied 
third  story,  and  often  listened  to  her  waihngs  from  the  foot  of 
the  second  flight  of  stairs. 

Miss  Wooler  was  an  intelligent,  amiable  person,  and  as  she 
received  but  few  pupils — never  more  than  ten — was  able  to  treat 


358  CHARLOTTE    BKONTE. 

them  as  members  of  her  family.  She  proposed  to  put  Charlotte 
in  the  second  class,  as  she  had  not  been  well  grounded  in  gram- 
mar, but  this  suggestion  caused  such  a  flow  of  tears  that  Miss 
Wooler  promoted  the  sensitive  pupil  at  once.  The  new  scholar 
amazed  the  old  ones  by  her  knowledge  of  poetry,  and  of  the  au- 
thors from  whom  their  elegant  extracts  were  taken  ;  by  her 
handwriting,  which  resembled  print ;  by  her  total  abstinence 
from  animal  food  ;  by  the  contrast  of  her  extraordinary  mental 
powers  with  her  evident  physical  weakness,  and  by  her  interest 
in  politics  and  her  violent  partisan  worship  of  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. She  was  an  indefatigable  student  and  a  favorite  with  her 
companions,  though  her  constant  application  made  her  an  unwill- 
ing participator  in  their  sports.  She  told  them  ghost  stories  at 
night,  and  practised  the  art  of  rising  to  a  climax  so  adroitly,  that 
she  elicited  screams  and  brought  on  palpitations  at  will.  She  re- 
ceived her  first  bad  mark  at  the  close  of  her  second  year — an 
event  which  deeply  agitated  the  little  community.  Charlotte 
wept ;  Miss  Wooler  felt  that  she  herself  must  have  been  to  blame, 
in  setting  her  too  long  a  task  ;  the  scholars  were  all  indignant 
and  inclined  to  mutiny.  So  the  bad  mark  was  withdrawn  ;  Char- 
lotte dried  her  tears,  and  the  pupils  resumed  their  allegiance — 
with  the  exception  of  one  whose  sensibilities  were  so  profoundly 
stirred,  that  during  the  remaining  fortnight  of  the  term  she  deli- 
berately refused  to  submit  to  the  regulations  of  the  school,  and 
set  Miss  Wooler  at  defiance.  This  steadfast  friend  is  shadowed 
forth  in  the  Jessie  Yorke  of  Shirley  ;  another  of  her  intimate 
friends,  at  this  period,  being  faintly  portrayed  under  the  name  of 
Caroline  Helstone. 

Charlotte  returned  home  in  the  summer  of  1832,  and  resumed 
her  superintendence  of  the  household  and  of  her  younger  sisters. 
They  continued  their  walks  over  the  moors  and  among  the  quar- 
ries, rarely  visiting  the  village  and  as  rarely  crossing  a  threshold. 
They  taught  Sunday  school  regularly,  and  in  this  relation — one 
of  preceptress  and  pupil,  not  of  companionship  on  equal  terms — 


CHARLOTTE    BRONTE.  359 

consisted  the  whole  of  their  association  with  the  members  of  their 
father's  j^arish. 

A  letter  written  by  Charlotte  to  Carohne  Helstone  wiU  give 
a  just  idea  of  her  acquirements  and  of  her  powers  of  discrimina- 
tion at  the  age  of  eighteen :  "You  ask  me,"  she  wrote,  "to  re- 
commend you  some  books  for  your  perusal.  I  will  do  so  in  as 
few  words  as  I  can.  If  you  like  poetry  let  it  be  first  rate  ;  Mil- 
ton, Shakspcare,  Thomson,  Goldsmith,  Pope — if  you  will,  though 
I  don't  admire  him — Scott,  Byron,  Campbell,  Wordsworth  and 
Southey.  Now  don't  be  startled  at  the  names  of  Shakspeare  and 
Byron.  Both  these  were  great  men,  and  their  works  are  Like 
themselves.  You  wiU  know  how  to  choose  the  good,  and  to  avoid 
the  evil ;  the  finest  passages  are  always  the  purest,  the  bad  are 
invariably  revolting ;  you  will  never  wish  to  read  them  over  twice. 
Omit  the  comedies  of  Shakspeare  and  the  Don  Juan,  perhaps  the 
Cain,  of  Byron — though  the  latter  is  a  magnificent  poem — and 
read  the  rest  fearlessly ;  that  must  indeed  be  a  depraved  mind 
which  can  gather  evil  from  Henry  VIII.,  from  Richard  III.,  from 
Macbeth,  and  Hamlet,  and  Juhus  Caesar.  Scott's  sweet,  wild,  ro- 
mantic poetry  can  do  you  no  harm.  Nor  can  Wordsworth's,  nor 
Campbell's,  nor  Southey's — the  greatest  part  of  his  at  least ;  some 
is  certainly  objectionable.  For  history,  read  Hume,  RoUin,  and 
the  Universal  History,  if  you  can ;  I  never  did.  For  fiction,  read 
Scott  alone  ;  all  novels  after  his  are  worthless.  For  divinity, 
your  brother  will  advise  you  there.  I  can  only  say,  adhere  to 
standard  authors,  and  avoid  novelty." 

In  July,  1835,  Charlotte  Bronte  accepted  an  invitation  from 
Miss  Wooler  to  assist  her  in  her  labors  as  an  instructress.  She 
found  her  new  life  monotonous  and  her  duties  trying,  but  she 
was,  upon  the  whole,  happy,  till  her  health  failed  and  her  nervous 
system  became  decidedly  disordered.  She  fell  into  despondency, 
and  as  she  herself  described  it,  was  irritable  and  touchy.  Miss 
Wooler  removed  her  seminary  to  another  less  salubrious  situa- 
tion, and  this  too  affected  Charlotte's  delicate  organization.     But 


360  CHAllLOTTE     BRONTE. 

she  still  struggled  bravely  on  in  the  career  at  heart  so  distasteful 
to  her.  The  three  sisters  met  at  home  at  Christmas,  iu  1836. 
They  talked  over  their  cares  and  anxieties,  and  laid  plans  for 
the  future.  On  the  29th  of  December,  Charlotte,  resolved  to 
ask  some  opinion  upon  her  poetry  less  prejudiced  than  that  of 
a  sister  or  a  father,  forwarded  a  letter  to  Mr.  Southey — the  first 
link  in  a  long  chain  of  adventurous  correspondence.  She  received 
his  reply  three  months  afterwards,  at  the  academy :  it  was 
earnest  and  kind,  though  depressing,  and,  as  she  thought,  strin- 
gent ;  it  dissuaded  her  from  a  hterary  life.  For  a  time,  she 
obeyed  the  unwelcome  advice  ;  but  her  despondency  grew  upon 
her,  and,  iu  her  twenty-first  year,  she  wrote  to  a  friend  that 
"her  aberrations  of  memory  warned  her  pretty  intelligibly  that 
she  was  getting  past  her  prime."  It  became  evident,  in  1838, 
that  she  was  overtasking  herself,  her  physical  weakness  being 
such  that  at  any  sudden  noise  she  turned  sick  and  lost  all  self- 
control. 

The  county  physician  recommended  a  return  to  the  beloved 
moors  of  Haworth  and  the  society  of  her  family  as  the  only 
means  of  saving  her  reason  or  her  life.  She  went  home,  and 
her  health  and  spirits  returned.  She  refused  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage, and  spent  a  year  in  that  painful  servitude — the  situation 
of  governess.  She  wrote  a  tale  which  she  afterwards  con- 
demned, and  no  portion  of  which  has  ever  been  pubhshed. 
She  now  spent  two  years  in  Brussels,  for  the  purpose  of  per- 
fecting herself  in  the  French  language,  and  qualifying  herself 
for  the  duties  of  a  teacher.  The  death  of  her  aunt,  by  which 
she  and  her  sisters  came  into  the  possession  of  small  legacies, 
enabled  them  to  indulge  the  idea  of  making  such  alterations 
in  the  Haworth  parsonage  as  would  adapt  it  to  the  requirements 
of  an  academy. 

Charlotte  returned  home  in  January,  1844,  alarmed  by  the 
tidings  which  reached  her  of  her  father's  incipient  blindness. 
She  discussed  her  plan  of  opening  a  girls'  school  with  her  sisters, 


CHARLOTTE    BRONTE.  361 

and  wrote  to  the  friends  she  had  made  during  her  residence  at 
Hoe  Head  and  at  Brussels.  She  intended  to  print  her  circulars 
as  soon  as  she  received  the  promise  of  one  pupil ;  but  June, 
July,  August,  September,  and  October  passed,  and  not  one  pupil 
was  obtained.  Her  brother  Branwell  was  ruining  his  health  and 
character  in  a  tumultuous  course  of  London  dissipation  ;  her 
father,  nearly  sightless,  lamented  his  own  misery  and  his  son's 
disgrace  in  helpless  woe  ;  and  she  herself  spent  the  bitter  days 
in  the  apprehension  of  a  similar  loss,  her  eyes  having  been 
severely  affected  by  her  long  ill  health,  her  early  habit  of  minute 
writing,  her  sleepless  nights  and  her  silent  tears.  At  last,  Bran- 
well,  discharged  from  his  situation  as  private  tutor,  came  home, 
a  confirmed  drunkard  and  an  irreclaimable  opium  eater.  The 
impossibility  of  continuing  his  city  life  drove  him  to  additional 
draughts  of  liquor  and  doses  of  opium,  for  the  purpose  of 
drowning  recollection,  and,  perhaps,  of  stunning  conscience.  The 
wretched  sisters  used  to  he  awake  at  night  listening  for  the 
report  of  a  pistol,  till  their  eyes  and  ears  became  deadened  with 
the  strain.  A  ray  of  light  broke  over  their  gloomy  path  in  the 
autumn  of  1845. 

At  this  period  Charlotte  accidentally  took  up  a  manuscript 
volume  of  verse,  by  her  sister  Emily.  She  read  several  poems, 
and  thought  them  terse,  vigorous  and  genuine.  Upon  this, 
Anne,  the  youngest,  produced  a  volume  of  compositions  of  her 
own,  and  asked  her  sister's  opinion.  Charlotte  found  them 
sweet,  sincere  and  pathetic.  The  three  resolved  to  arrange  a 
small  selection  of  their  poems,  and,  if  possible,  get  them  printed. 
Being  averse  to  personal  publicity,  they  adopted  ambiguous 
signatures,  not  wishing  to  take  masculine  names,  on  account  of 
the  deceit,  nor  yet  wilhng  to  declare  themselves  women,  on 
account  of  the  prejudice  with  which  they  conceived  authoresses 
were  regarded.  Charlotte  assumed  the  name  of  Currer  Bell, 
Emily  that  of  Ellis  BeU,  and  Anne  that  of  Acton  Bell.  Charlotte 
immediately  commenced  the  ungracious  task  of  writing  to  the 

46 


362  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

London  publishers.  For  a  long  time  she  received  no  answer  ; 
at  last,  in  January,  1846,  Messrs.  Aylott  and  Jones,  of  Paternoster 
Row,  made  an  encouraging  reply.  They  agreed,  after  some 
correspondence,  to  publish  a  volume  of  250  pages,  in  long 
primer,  at  the  expense  of  the  authors.  Charlotte  sent  the  manu- 
script and  an  installment  of  £31  10s.,  and  requested  that  the 
proofs  might  be  forwarded  for  the  authors'  correction.  The 
volume  was  issued,  and  the  public  and  the  j^ress  allowed  it  to 
pass  almost  unnoticed.  The  Athenajum  of  July  4th  referred 
briefly  to  the  volume,  assigning  the  highest  place  to  EUis  Bell, 
and  styling  him  "  a  fine  quaint  spirit."  Currer  came  next  in 
the  reviewer's  estimation.  The  sale  of  the  work  never  indemni- 
fied the  sisters  for  their  pecuniary  advance,  and  Messrs.  Aylott 
and  Jones  decided  that  they  could  not  advantageously  continue 
their  business  relations  with  the  future  authors  of  Jane  Eyre, 
Wuthering  Heights  and  Agnes  Grey. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  Charlotte  took  her  father  to 
Manchester,  to  be  treated  by  Dr.  Wilson,  a  distinguished  ocuhst. 
An  operation  for  the  cataract,  attended  with  great  anxiety 
and  some  danger,  was  finally  successful.  In  the  midst  of 
these  cares,  and  in  spite  of  the  failure  of  their  late  venture, 
Charlotte  and  her  sisters  were  preparing  for  their  second  literary 
effort.  Bach  of  them  had  written  a  tale  in  prose,  Charlotte 
contributing  The  Professor,  Emily,  Wuthering'Heights,  and  Anne, 
Agnes  Grey.  The  three  were  sent  forth  together,  and  then  they 
were  sent  forth  separately ;  no  publisher  would  take  them  in 
any  number  or  in  any  shape.  "The  Professor"  came  back,  on 
one  occasion,  to  Charlotte,  with  a  rough  refusal,  on  the  day  her 
father  was  to  undergo  the  operation.  The  three  manuscripts 
went  begging  to  every  bookselling  door  in  London,  to  be  coldly 
and  contemptuously  repulsed  by  all.  It  was  at  Manchester,  in 
uncomfortable  hired  apartments,  in  a  monotonous  suburb  of  that 
monotonous  town,  with  her  father  lying  sightless  and  silent  in 
an  adjoining  room  ;  with  her  dissolute,  dying  brother  rendering 


CHARLOTTE    BKONTE.  363 

the  quiet  home  at  Haworth  almost  disreputable ;  with  her  sisters 
dependent  on  her  for  care  and  nurture  ;  with  her  own  health 
shattered,  and  her  hopes  and  aspirations  rudely  and  bitterly 
quenched,  that  Charlotte  Bronte  commenced  that  master-piece 
of  fiction,  Jane  Eyre. 

She  had  not  advanced  far  in  her  work,  when  her  father  was 
able  to  go  home  to  Haworth,  his  sight  and  strength  gradually  re- 
turning. Little,  very  little  is  known  of  the  j^rogress  of  the 
wonderful  romance.  Charlotte  only  wrote  when  the  spirit 
prompted,  sometimes  passing  weeks  and  months  in  barren  un- 
productiveness. Then  the  cloud  would  pass  from  her  mind, 
and  every  moment  which  could  be  stolen  from  her  household 
or  filial  duties  would  be  eagerly  devoted  to  urging  forward 
the  precious  manuscript.  At  these  times,  she  was,  as  it  were, 
possessed  by  her  subject,  but  even  then  never  neglected  her 
ordinary  domestic  routine,  and  threw  down  pencil  and  pa- 
per, and  checked  the  flow  of  inspiration,  to  run  and  peel  the 
potatoes  for  the  now  inefficient  Tabby.  She  wrote  upon  small 
scraps  of  paper,  in  pencil,  using  a  piece  of  planed  board  for 
a  desk,  afterwards  copying  her  manuscript  in  a  clear,  delicate, 
print-like  hand.  Once  or  twice  a  week,  in  the  evening,  she 
read  what  she  had  written  to  her  sisters,  they  in  turn  reading 
their  own  compositions,  in  their  various  stages  of  advancement. 
It  was  dui'ing  a  discussion  which  once  ensued,  that  Charlotte  re- 
solved to  make  her  heroine  entirely  devoid  of  personal  attrac- 
tions. ' '  She  told  her  sisters  that  they  were  wrong,  even  morally 
wrong,  in  making  their  heroines  beautiful  as  a  matter  of  course. 
They  replied  that  it  was  impossible  to  make  a  heroine  interesting 
on  any  other  terms.  Her  answer  was,  'I  will  prove  to  you  that 
you  are  wrong  ;  I  will  show  you  a  heroine  as  plain  and  as  small 
as  myself,  who  shall  be  as  interesting  as  any  of  yours.'  As  the 
work  went  on,  the  interest  deepened  to  the  writer.  When  she 
came  to  Thornfield,  she  could  not  stop.  On  she  went,  writing 
incessantly  for  three  weeks  ;  by  which  time  she  had  carried  her 


364  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

heroine  away  from  Thornfield,  and  was  herself  in  a  fever  which 
compelled  her  to  pause." 

Thus  passed  the  year  1846,  and  thus  commenced  that  of 
1847.  "  The  Professor"  was  still  plodding  his  weary  way  from 
publisher  to  pubhsher  ;  Mr.  Bronte  was  bearing  his  inflictions  in 
silent  stoicism,  and  sharing  his  parochial  duties  with  his  curate, 
Mr.  NichoUs  ;  Branwell  was  receiving  periodical  visits  from  she- 
riffs' officers,  who  invariably  invited  him  to  pay  a  little  bill  or  ac- 
company them  to  York.  Charlotte  lost  her  appetite,  and  de- 
scribed herself  as  "  looking  grey,  old,  worn  and  sunk,"  and  on 
one  occasion  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  My  youth  is  gone  hke  a  dream, 
and  very  little  use  have  I  ever  made  of  it.  I  shall  be  thirty-one 
next  birth-day."  But  Jane  Eyre  made  good  progress,  and  at 
last  Wuthering  Heights  and  Agnes  Grey  found  a  pubhsher  will- 
ing to  assume  the  risk,  though  "  upon  terms  somewhat  impover- 
ishing to  the  two  authors."  A  courteous  letter  received  from  the 
publishing  house  of  Messrs.  Smith  and  Elder,  declining  to  accept 
"  The  Professor,"  but  giving  sufficient  and  discriminating  rea- 
sons, and  accompanying  the  refusal  with  an  intimation  that  a 
work  in  three  volumes  would  meet  with  careful  attention,  de- 
cided Charlotte  to  offer  them  Jane  Eyre.  On  the  24th  of  Au- 
gust, she  forwarded  the  manuscript,  directing  the  publishers  to 
address,  in  future,  Mr.  Currer  BeU,  under  cover  to  Miss  Bronte, 
Haworth,  Bradford,  Yorkshire.  The  copy  was  read  by  a  gentle- 
man connected  with  the  firm,  and  he  expressed  his  admiration  in 
terms  so  strong  that  Mr.  Smith  attached  no  value  to  his  opinion. 
Upon  reading  it  himself,  however,  he  acknowledged  that  his 
partner's  eulogistic  language  had  not  been  unworthily  bestowed. 
The  book  was  accepted,  and  published  on  the  16th  of  October, 
1847. 

The  immense  success  which  this  fascinating  work  subsequently 
obtained,  was  due  wholly  to  the  discrimination  of  the  public,  and 
in  no  degree  either  to  the  favorable  or  adverse  criticisms  of  the 
press.     Neither  the  jom-nals  nor  the  magazines  seem  to  have 


CHARLOTTE     BRONTE.  365 

thought  it  worthy  of  more  than  a  passmg,  and  often  non-com- 
mittal, notice.  When  the  tide  of  pubhc  favor  set  in,  early  in 
December,  the  Examiner  awarded  it  the  benefit  of  a  studied 
and  very  commendatory  article.  The  authoress  was  slowly  and 
gradually  acquainted  with  her  good  fortune.  The  following  ex- 
tracts from  successive  letters  to  her  pubhshers,  will  show  in  what 
manner  she  was  affected  by  the  critical  notices  of  her  work  : 

"The  notice  in  the  Literary  Gazette  seems  certainly  to  have 
been  indited  in  rather  a  flat  mood,  and  the  Athenfeum  has  a  style 
of  its  own,  which  I  respect,  but  cannot  exactly  relish  ;  still,  when 
wc  consider  that  journals  of  that  standing  have  a  dignity  to  retain, 
which  would  be  deranged  by  too  cordial  a  recognition  of  the 
claims  of  an  obscure  author,  I  suppose  there  is  every  reason  to  be 
satisfied. 

"  The  critique  in  the  Spectator  gives  that  view  of  the  book 
which  will  naturally  be  taken  by  a  certain  class  of  minds  ;  I 
shaU  expect  it  to  be  followed  by  other  notices  of  a  similar 
nature.  The  way  to  detraction  has  been  pointed  out,  and  will 
probably  be  pursued.  The  notice  in  the  Examiner  gratified 
me  very  much  ;  it  appears  to  be  from  the  pen  of  an  able  man 
who  has  understood  what  he  undertakes  to  criticise  ;  of  course 
approbation  from  such  a  quarter  is  encouraging  to  an  author, 
and  I  trust  it  will  prove  beneficial  to  the  work."  On  December 
10th,  she  wrote  a  paragraph  which  told  that  her  labors  had  at 
last  met  with  their  reward  :  "  Gentlemen,  I  beg  to  acknowledge 
the  receipt  of  your  letter  inclosing  a  bank  post  biU,  for  which  I 
thank  you." 

The  sisters  now  determined  to  acquaint  their  father  with 
the  successful  result  of  Charlotte's  literary  efforts.  They  had 
hitherto  concealed  from  him  their  labors  and  correspondence, 
that  they  might  not  add  theu*  own  anxieties  to  his,  though  he 
asserted  afterwards  that  he  suspected  something  of  the  kind,  as 
his  children  were  perpetually  writing,  and  not  writing  letters. 
Charlotte  went  into  his  study,  taking  with  her  a  copy  of  Jane 


366  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

Eyre,  and  two  reviews,  one  favorable,  one  adverse.     The  follow- 
ing conversation  then  ensued  : 

"  Papa,  I've  been  writing  a  book." 

"  Have  you,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  you  to  read  it." 

"I  am  afraid  it  will  try  my  eyes  too  much." 

"  But  it  is  not  in  manuscript ;  it  is  printed." 

"  My  dear,  you've  never  thought  of  the  expense  it  will  be! 
It  will  be  almost  sure  to  be  a  loss,  for  how  can  you  get  a  book 
sold  ?     JSTo  one  knows  you  or  your  name." 

"  But,  papa,  I  don't  think  it  will  be  a  loss ;  no  more  will  you, 
if  you  will  let  me  read  you  a  review  or  two,  and  tell  you  more 
about  it." 

Thereupon  she  read  him  the  reviews,  and  left  him  to  peruse 
the  book  himself.  When  he  came  into  tea,  he  pronounced  a 
criticism  quite  as  guarded  as  that  of  the  Athenaeum  ;  "  Girls,"  he 
said,  "  do  you  know  Charlotte  has  been  writing  a  book,  and  it  is 
much  better  than  likely  ?" 

The  secret  of  the  authorship  of  Jane  Byre  was  now  known  to 
four  persons — ^the  three  Brontes  and  their  father.  Beyond 
them,  not  an  individual  in  Gi'eat  Britain,  not  even  the  publishers, 
knew  or  suspected  the  truth.  But  every  reader  in  the  land 
sought  to  penetrate  the  mystery  by  twisting  the  incidents  to  suit 
this  or  that  locality,  or  by  directly  charging  some  popular 
author  with  the  responsibility  of  the  unacknowledged  production. 
The  first  edition  was  sold  before  even  the  question  of  sex  was 
satisfactorily  disposed  of,  and  the  third  was  put  to  press  just  as 
popular  opinion  had  settled  upon  two  points  ;  that  Jane  Eyre 
was  the  work  of  a  new  and  untried  hand,  and  that  the  writer 
was  to  be  sought  for  amid  the  wild  scenes  described  in  the 
novel — amid  the  racy  and  strongly-characterized  inhabitants  of 
the  North  and  West  Ridings.  Still,  it  does  not  appear  that  any 
one  in  Haworth  at  this  period  either  felt  the  interest  or  took  the 
trouble  to  put  two  very  evident  facts  together,  and  draw  an 


CHAELOTTEBEONTE.  367 

inference  therefrom:  Jane  Eyre  was  by  Currcr  Bell,  and  for  a 
year  past  the  Haworth  postman  had  carried  daily  batches  of 
letters,  magazines,  reviews,  to  Miss  Bronte,  to  be  dehvered  to 
Currer  Bell.  Village  postmen  are  usually  confidential,  and  it  is 
doing  no  injustice  to  the  worthy  gossips  of  Haworth  to  suppose 
them  often  wondering,  with  the  carrier,  who  this  Currer  Bell 
could  be.  Indeed  it  is  not  necessary  to  indulge  in  conjecture  at 
all,  for  Charlotte  once  overheard  the  postman,  at  the  outset  of 
her  correspondence,  inquire  of  Mr.  Bronte  where  one  Currer  Bell 
could  be  living.  On  that  occasion  the  letter  was  not  directed  to 
the  care  of  Miss  Bronte,  and  doubtless  the  postman  had  made  a 
similar  inquiry  at  every  house  he  had  visited.  Yet  for  two  years 
and  a  half  Haworth  remained  in  profound  ignorance  of  the  ill- 
guarded  secret. 

Charlotte's  first  visit  to  London  occurred  in  June,  1848, 
under  the  following  circumstances : — A  publisher  in  America 
had  made  an  arrangement  with  Messrs.  Smith  and  Elder  for 
early  sheets  of  the  next  work  by  Currer  Bell.  The  firm  subse- 
quently heard  that  a  similar  bargain  had  been  made  between 
another  American  and  another  London  house.  On  inquiry  they 
discovered  that  the  publishers  of  Wuthering  Heights,  by  Emily, 
and  of  Agnes  Grey,  by  Anne,  and  who  at  this  time  were  about 
issuing  Anne's  second  work,  "The  Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall," 
had  assured  their  American  correspondent  that,  to  the  best  of 
their  knowledge,  all  three  books  were  by  the  author  of  Jane 
Eyre.  They  therefore  promised  him  early  sheets  of  Wildfell 
Hall,  as  a  work  by  Currer  Bell.  Upon  being  acquainted  with 
these  facts,  Charlotte  and  Anne  at  once  resolved  to  proceed  to 
Paternoster  Row,  and  there  prove  their  separate  identity.  They 
appeared  unannounced  before  Mr.  Smith,  who,  up  to  this  mo- 
ment, was  ignorant  whether  Currer  Bell  were  a  man  or  a  woman. 
They  were  dressed  in  black,  and,  at  first  sight,  seemed  unattract- 
ive and  uninteresting  enough.  Charlotte  produced  Mr.  Smith's 
letter,  at  the  same  time  informing  him  that  Currer  and  Acton 


368  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

Bell  stood  before  him.  "When  the  first  surprise  was  over,  Mr. 
Smith  began  to  suggest  plans  for  their  amusement  during  their 
stay,  but  Charlotte  was  firm  in  her  resolution  to  leave  London 
as  she  had  entered  it,  unknown.  She  went,  however,  with  her 
sister  and  the  ladies  of  Mr.  Smith's  family,  to  the  opera,  noticing 
that  the  finely-dressed  visitors  glanced  with  a  slight  and  graceful 
supercihousness  at  her  plain,  high-made  country  garments.  They 
went  to  church  on  Sunday,  and  to  the  Royal  Academy  on  Mon- 
day, returning  home,  well  laden  with  books,  on  Tuesday.  Char- 
lotte writes  thus  of  the  consequences  of  her  visit:  "A  more 
jaded  wretch  than  I  looked,  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive. 
I  was  thin  when  I  went,  but  I  was  meagre  indeed  when  I 
returned,  my  face  looking  grey  and  very  old,  with  strange  deep 
lines  ploughed  in  it,  my  eyes  staring  unnaturally."  They  had 
passed  in  London  as  the  Misses  Brown,  and  appear  to  have  been 
looked  upon  as  shy  and  reserved  little  countrywomen,  with  not 
much  to  say. 

Branwell  Bronte  died,  after  a  profligate  and  mis-spent  life,  on 
the  24th  of  September,  1848.  It  was  the  first  death  in  the  family 
since  Charlotte  had  been  of  an  age  to  reaUze  the  full  import  of 
such  an  event.  She  gave  way  at  the  crisis  of  her  brother's  fate, 
sinking  beneath  an  attack  of  bilious  fever  at  the  moment  of  his 
agony.  He  had  resolved  on  standing  up  to  die,  and  met  his 
doom  in  that  position.  The  wretched  household  bore  the  dis- 
pensation in  meek  submission  ;  but  when,  three  months  later, 
Emily  sickened  and  followed  Branwell  to  the  tomb  beneath  the 
old  church  pavement,  then  the  father  and  his  two  remaining 
children  lost  all  courage.  It  was  when  Charlotte's  soul  was  thus 
wrung  by  calamity  that  the  Quarterly  Review,  containing  a  flip- 
pant and  scornful  notice  of  Jane  Eyre,  was  laid  before  her.  She 
seems  to  have  expressed  a  silent  opinion  of  the  article  by  placing 
a  number  of  sentences  from  it  in  the  mouth  of  a  hard  and 
vulgar  personage  in  the  novel  of  "Shirley,"  upon  which,  in  the 
midst  of  her  distresses,  she  was  zealously  engaged. 


CHARLOTTE     BRONTE.  369 

Charlotte  had  thus  lost  a  brother  and  a  sister  in  the  space  of 
three  months.  The  year  1849  opened  with  the  premonitions  of 
another  bereavement.  Anne  faded  and  drooped  before  the  rapid 
advance  of  tubercular  consumption.  In  Maj^,  the  sea  air  was 
recommended,  and  Charlotte  took  her  fast-sinking  sister  down  to 
the  sands  of  Scarborough.  Anne  died  at  the  sea-side,  and  Char- 
lotte, construing  a  few  words  she  had  uttered  into  a  wish  to  that 
effect,  buried  her — 

"  Wliere  tlje  sonth  sun  warms  the  now  dear  sod, 
Where  the  ocean  billows  lave  and  strike  the  steep  and  tnrf-covered  rock." 

Charlotte  was  now  alone  out  of  six  children  who  had  been  born 
to  her  mother,  and  out  of  the  four  with  whom  she  had  grown  up 
into  life.  The  first  chapter  which  she  wrote  after  the  death  of 
Anne  she  entitled  "The  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death." 

Perhaps  the  desolation  of  the  unhappy  woman  was  cheered 
by  the  labor  of  love  upon  which  she  was  engaged,  for  Shirley 
Keeldar  was  intended  as  a  portrait  of  her  sister  Emily  ;  perhaps, 
on  the  contrary,  the  realization  of  her  bereavement  was  rendered 
all  the  more  intense  and  poignant  by  the  constant  presence  in 
her  mind's  eye  of  her  who  was  forever  lost  to  the  outward  vision. 
But  she  wrote  steadily  on,  sitting  desolate  in  the  room  where 
lately  three  kindred  spirits  had  communed  in  sympathy,  until,  in 
September,  the  work  was  done.  It  was  published  on  the  26th 
of  October.  The  earliest  reviews  mortified  her  exceedingly  by 
the  unanimity  with  which  they  agreed  that  the  author  must  be  a 
woman,  for  she  felt  that  the  critic  unconsciously  lowered  his 
standard  when  judging  of  the  productions  of  a  female  pen,  and 
she  preferred  to  be  measured  in  a  more  impartial  scale.  But  the 
secret  was  divulged  during  the  month  following  the  publication. 
The  author  could  hardly  be  other  than  a  person  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  scenes  in  which  the  story  was  laid — West  York- 
shire, the  scene  of  the  Luddite  riots.     A  letter  published  in  a 

47 

s 


370  CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

Liverpool  paper  emitted  the  suggestion  that  the  writer  must, 
from  internal  evidence,  be  an  inhabitant  of  Haworth,  and  added 
that  there  was  but  one  person  in  Haworth  capable  of  the  effort — 
Miss  Bronte.  Suspicion  being  thus  directed,  and  conjecture  being 
thus  brought  to  a  focus,  the  mystery  was  speedily  dissolved,  and 
when,  towards  the  close  of  the  year,  Charlotte  made  a  second  visit 
to  London,  it  was  to  acknowledge  the  authorship  and  discard  her 
pseudonym.  She  was  forced,  much  against  her  will,  into  what 
appeared  to  her  a  whirl  of  dissijoation.  Her  shy,  retiring  manners 
never  quite  left  her,  and  it  was  with  a  nervous  shrinking  and 
hesitation  that  she  met  each  successive  new  acquaintance.  On  her 
return  to  Haworth,  she  found  that  "Airedale,  Wharfedale,  Calder- 
dale  and  Ribblesdale,"  and,  indeed,  the  whole  West  Riding,  were 
rife  with  the  excitement  consequent  upon  the  disclosure  that  the 
wonderful  Currer  Bell  was  a  Yorkshire  clergyman's  daughter. 

The  peculiar  interest  attaching  to  the  life  of  Charlotte  Bronte 
ceases,  in  a  great  degree,  with  her  assumption  of  an  individual 
existence.  She  was  now  involved  in  the  usual  round  of  occupa- 
tions incidental  to  a  literary  career.  She  went  again  to  London, 
where  she  sat  for  her  portrait,  in  crayon,  to  Richmond  ;  she 
attended  the  French  plays,  and  saw  Rachel ;  she  admired  the 
Crystal  Palace  ;  she  attended  popular  and  artistic  gatherings  ; 
she  received  anonymous  tributes  of  admiration ;  she  edited  a  new 
edition  of  the  works  of  her  sisters  ;  she  travelled  in  Scotland  ; 
she  heard  d'Aubigne  preach,  and  she  visited  Miss  Martineau  at 
Ambleside.  She  commenced  "Villette"  late  in  1850,  but  had 
made  but  little  progress  at  the  close  of  1851.  She  wi'ote  with 
evident  distaste,  constantly  interrupted  by  attacks  of  sickness  and 
by  fits  of  indifference  and  even  disgust.  With  a  work  produced 
under  such  circumstances,  she  was  naturally  dissatisfied,  and 
besought  her  publishers  to  allow  her  the  shelter  and  protection 
of  an  incognito,  unless  such  a  course  should  tend  to  injure  their 
interests.  She  dreaded  to  see  the  large  advertisement,  "New 
Work  by  Currer  Bell,"  though   she   acknowledged   that   these 


C  H  A  R  L  0  T  T  E     B  R  0  N  T  E  .  371 

hiunors  were  "the  transcendentalisms  of  a  retired  wretch."  She 
seems  to  have  felt  that  her  powers  were  waning,  for  she  thus 
rephed  to  suggestions  for  very  obvious  improvements  in  Villette  : 
"  With  many  of  your  strictures  I  concur  :  I  doubt  whether  the 
regular  novel  reader  will  consider  the  agony  piled  sufficiently 
high — as  the  Americans  say — or  the  colors  dashed  on  to  the  can- 
vas with  the  proper  amount  of  daring.  Still  I  fear  they  must  be 
satisfied  with  what  is  offered ;  my  palette  affords  no  brighter  tints  ; 
were  I  to  attempt  to  deepen  the  reds  or  burnish  the  yellows,  I 
should  but  botch."  The  acclamations  of  delight  which  welcomed 
the  book  upon  its  pubhcation  in  January,  1853,  relieved  her  from 
an  oppressive  weight  of  apj)rehension. 

Just  before  she  left  Haworth  for  London  to  correct  the  proof- 
sheets  of  Villette,  her  father's  curate,  Mr.  NichoUs,  who  for  eight 
years  had  been  an  admiring  yet  silent  witness  of  her  virtues,  and 
whose  respect  had  rijjened  into  a  fervent  affection,  made  known 
to  her  the  state  of  his  feelings.  She  had  not  suspected  his  attach- 
ment, when  the  avowal  was  made.  It  was  vehement  and 
passionate.  Charlotte  promised  a  reply  on  the  morrow,  intend- 
ing, if  her  father  should  give  his  consent,  to  make  a  favorable 
one.  But  Mr.  Bronte,  who  disapproved  of  marriages  in  general, 
was  particularly  opposed  to  this  one,  and  his  daughter  was  glad 
to  quiet  his  agitation  and  set  his  fears  at  rest  by  engaging  to  give 
Mr.  NichoUs  a  formal  refusal.  She  did  so,  without  thought  for 
herself,  though  certainly,  at  the  age  of  thirty-seven,  she  might 
have  been  safely  left  to  the  dictates  of  her  own  judgment,  even  in 
so  serious  a  matter  as  matrimony.  Mr.  NichoUs  resigned  his 
curacy,  and  Charlotte,  suflering  deeply  from  the  pain  which 
she  had  thus  been  made  to  inflict,  was  glad  to  profit  by  the 
opportunity  presented  by  the  approaching  appearance  of  Villette, 
to  revisit  London,  and  temporarily  absent  herself  from  Haworth. 

Mr.  Bronte  seems  to  have  spent  a  poi-tion  of  his  time  during 
her  absence  in  reflecting  upon  his  own  selfishness,  and  in  recon- 
ciling himself  to  the  possibility  of  his  daughter's  marriage.     By 


372  CHARLOTTE     BRONTE. 

degrees  his  prejudice  was  conquered  and  his  obstinacy  quelled. 
In  Ajiril,  1854,  Mr.  Nicholls  paid  a  visit  to  the  parsonage,  and  it 
was  then  agreed  that,  he  should  resume  the  curacy,  and  in  due 
course  of  time  be  received  as  an  inmate  of  the  house.  Mr.  Nich- 
olls proposed  the  month  of  July  as  a  fitting  period,  but  Charlotte 
seems  to  have  thought  this  unnecessarily  sudden.  She  never- 
theless visited  London  and  Leeds  for  the  purpose  of  making  her 
modest  jjurchases,  and  was  quite  ready  for  the  grand  occasion, 
which  was  even  hastened  beyond  Mr.  Nicholls'  hopes,  and  ap- 
pointed for  the  27th  of  June.  On  that  day,  Charlotte  Bronte 
was  married,  Mr.  Bronte  refusing,  at  the  last  moment,  to  enter 
the  church,  and  declining  to  give  the  bride  away.  This  duty 
was  performed  by  Miss  Wooler,  of  Roe  Head,  one  of  Charlotte's 
cherished  friends  ever  since  her  schoolgirl  days.  The  bride  and 
bridegroom  then  departed  upon  their  wedding-tour,  and  spent 
the  midsummer  months  amid  the  romantic  scenery  of  KiUarney 
and  Glengaritf. 

We  have  but  one  more  paragraph  to  write  in  this  sad  and 
ch"eerless  history.  Charlotte  Bronte  survived  her  marriage  some- 
what less  than  a  year,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  March, 
the  bell  of  the  old  Haworth  church  rang  forth  her  passing  knell. 
On  Easter  Sunday,  while  the  Christian  woi-ld  was  rejoicing  in  the 
recurrence  of  its  joyous  anniversary,  the  stricken  parent  commit- 
ted to  the  earth  the  mortal  remains  of  his  sixth  and  last  child, 
and  then  the  father  and  the  husband,  shutting  the  door  of  the 
parsonage  upon  the  ready  sympathy  of  the  villagers,  sat  down  in 
silence  to  bear  their  grief  alone. 

"  The  story  of  the  Bronte  family,"  says  the  Rev.  Henry  Giles, 
"  reads  like  the  nari'ative  of  a  family  devoted  to  mortal  doom. 
It  is  as  if  the  spirit  of  an  olden  tragedy  were  embodied  in  a  mo- 
dern form,  as  if  the  Idea  of  Fate  were  translated  into  reality  ;  as 
if  the  Myth  and  Mystery  of  a  Grecian  legend  were  twined  into 
English  fact.  "We  might  truly  call  that  clerical  residence  '  the 
house   of    the  dying' — as  the  place  around  it  was  literally  the 


CHARLOTTE    BRONTE.  373 

place  of  the  Dead If  every  biography,  at  the  best,  seems 

but  a  tragedy  from  the  beginning,  if  no  hfe  remains  beyond  the 
present  for  the  soul,  then  this  and  every  other  biography  not 
only  seems,  but  is,  a  tragedy  ;  a  tragedy  in  the  beginnhig  and 
the  end  ;  a  tragedy  inconsolable  and  immeasurable  in  its  infinite 
despair." 

The  reader  of  Charlotte  Bronte's  story  will  find  some  com- 
pensation for  the  pain  it  can  hardly  fail  to  cause  him,  in  the 
consciousness  that  during  her  short  and  blighted  career  she  won 
a  name  that  will  never  die,  and  inscribed  her  signature  upon  im- 
perishable tablets.  She  has  taken  rank  as  the  first  female  writer 
of  fiction  that  England  has  produced  ;  and  her  works  are  rated  as 
classics  even  in  the  magnificent  literature  of  the  English  tongue. 
It  will  be  no  smaU  consolation  to  those  who  are  saddened  by  her 
mournful  biography,  to  remember  that  the  works  thus  conceived 
in  woe  and  brought  forth  in  travail,  will  be  as  enduring  as  the 
language  in  which  they  are  written,  and  that  she  who  was  denied 
every  human  blessing  and  was  tried  by  eveiy  temporal  affliction, 
died  in  possession  of  two  immortalities — one  which  she  inherited 
beyond  the  grave  and  one  which  she  had  earned  for  hei'self  on 
earth.  Charlotte  Bronte  is  no  more  ;  Jane  Eyre  shall  live  for- 
ever. 


\ 


i  1 


^»'   ••\. 


VICTORIA 


The  lapse  of  centuries  has  brought  about  few  more  striking 
changes  than  are  exhibited  in  the  contrast  between  the  biographies 
of  modern  female  sovereigns  and  those  of  ancient  times.  Queens 
are  not  what  they  were.  Time  was  when  the  history  of  her 
Majesty  was  a  history  of  her  kingdom.  He  who  reads  the  history 
of  Isabella,  reads  the  history  of  Castile  and  Aragon  ;  the  story 
of  the  Catholic  Queen  is  inseparable  from  that  of  the  expulsion 
of  the  Jews,  the  conquest  of  Granada,  and  the  voyages  of 
Columbus.  The  historian  of  Mary  Stuart  is  the  historian  of 
Scotland ;  the  biographer  of  Elizabeth  must,  to  a  certain  extent, 
be  also  the  biographer  of  Shakspeare,  Raleigh  and  Drake.  But 
all  this  has  been  materially  changed.  The  daughters  of  royal 
houses  have  seen  their  best  days  ;  there  will  never  be  another 
Maria  Theresa.  Something  more  potent  than  a  Salic  law  excludes 
them.  The  British  constitution  permits  the  queen  to  be  virtuous, 
amiable  and  charitable  ;  it  does  not  allow  her  to  be  sagacious, 
learned  or  acute  ;  she  may  be  good,  she  cannot  be  great.  The 
crown  was  once  a  symbol ;  now  it  is  a  head-dress.  The  impossi- 
bility of  doing  justice  to  Isabella  without  constant  mention  of 
Ximenes  and  Torquemada  is  apparent  to  all;  or  to  Mary  of 
Scotland,  without  repeated  reference  to  Murray  and  John  Knox ; 

8T6 


376  VICTORIA. 

but  it  is  not  incumbent  upon  the  biographer  of  Victoria  to  allude, 
even  distantly,  to  Palmerston  or  Spurgeon.  Isabella  and  her 
reign  were  one  and  the  same  thing  ;  Victoria  and  her  reign  are 
two  very  distinct  themes.  The  one  falls  within  the  province  of 
Mrs.  Jameson ;  the  other  within  that  of  Macaulay.  Our  duty, 
therefore,  as  we  understand  it,  is  to  say  a  few  words  of  an  exemplary 
mother  of  a  family,  who  is  also,  incidentally,  an  excellent  queen. 

That  Alexandrina  Victoria  should  ever  have  ascended  the 
English  throne  is,  perhaps,  the  only  remarkable  event  in  her 
life.  George  III.  left  five  sons,  the  elder,  of  course,  the  heir, 
the  others  in  all  likelihood  forever  debarred  from  the  succession. 
The  heir,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  reigned  as  George  IV.,  and  died 
childless  ;  the  second  son,  the  Duke  of  York,  died  without  reign- 
ing, and  likewise  childless  ;  the  third  son,  the  Duke  of  Clarence, 
reigned  as  WiUiam  IV.,  and  died  childless  ;  the  fourth  son, 
Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  died  without  reigning,  but  left  one 
child,  a  daughter ;  and  to  her,  thus  remote  from  the  inheritance, 
descended  the  patrimony  of  the  house  of  Hanover  and  Bruns- 
wick. 

Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  was  the  best  of  King  George's  sons. 
He  was  honest,  sincere,  high-minded.  The  firmness  of  his  prin- 
ciples and  the  austerity  of  his  manners  caused  him  to  be  dis- 
hked,  and  even  persecuted,  by  the  elder  members  of  the  royal 
family.  His  income  was  small,  and  though  the  son  of  a  king, 
he  barely  possessed  the  means  of  maintaining  his  rank  respect- 
ably. He  lived  for  a  long  time  in  Germany,  and  there,  in  1818, 
married  Victoria  Maria  Louisa,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Saxe  Coburg,  and  the  widow  of  the  Prince  of  Lei- 
ningen.  The  Duchess  of  Kent  proved  herself  equal  to  the  duties 
which  Providence  assigned  her — those  of  the  mother  of  the 
future  Queen  of  Great  Britain.  She  was  a  lady  of  high  principle, 
her  natural  strength  of  character  and  constancy  of  purpose  being 
agreeably  tempered  by  a  gentle  disposition  and  great  amiability 
of  manner  and  address.    She  was  beloved  by  all,  and  her  regency 


VICTORIA.  377 

of  her  first  husband's  principality,  before  the  majority  of  her  son 
by  him,  caused  her  to  be  deeply  respected.  Shortly  after  her 
marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Kent,  it  became  evident  that  the 
duke  might  be  called  to  the  throne  of  England,  and  that  the 
child  whose  birth  was  soon  expected,  must  succeed  him.  He 
was  anxious  that  his  offspring  should  be  born  in  the  country 
where  it  might  be  destined  to  rule  ;  but  he  was  absolutely 
without  the  means  necessary  for  the  journey.  He  was  residing 
at  Amorbach,  a  small  town  in  Germany,  and  from  there  wrote 
to  his  relations  and  friends  in  England  for  the  requisite  remit- 
tances. In  one  of  his  letters  he  wrote  thus:  "The  interesting 
situation  of  the  duchess  causes  me  hourly  anxiety  ;  and  you, 
who  so  well  know  my  views  and  feehngs,  can  easily  appreciate 
how  eagerly  desirous  I  am  to  hasten  our  departure  for  old 
England.  The  event  is  thought  likely  to  occur  about  the  end 
of  next  month.  My  wish  is  that  it  may  take  place  about  the 
4th  of  June,  as  that  is  the  birthday  of  my  revered  father  ;  and 
that  the  child,  too,  like  him,  may  be  a  Briton  born." 

The  royal  and  noble  friends  to  whom  the  duke  had  applied 
for  assistance,  declined  affording  it ;  he  was  indebted  for  the 
means  of  reaching  his  country  to  persons  of  comparatively  ob- 
scure condition.  He  arrived  with  his  wife  at  Kensington  Palace 
in  time  for  his  daughter  to  see  the  hght  upon  British  soil  ; 
upon  the  24th  of  May,  1819,  his  first  and  only  child,  Alex- 
andrina  Victoria,  was  born.  At  this  moment,  her  uncle,  George 
IV.,  was  upon  the  throne,  and  between  her  and  the  succession 
stood  his  possible  issue  ;  and  failing  that,  her  uncle  of  York  and 
his  issue  ;  and  failing  them,  her  uncle  of  Clarence  and  his  issue  ; 
and  faihng  them,  her  own  father.  That  she  should  have  event- 
ually obtained  the  crown  by  the  successive  disruption  of  every 
link  in  the  sequence,  will  ever  be  a  notable  feature  in  the  his- 
tory of  her  house. 

The  Duke  of  Kent  hved  but  eight  months  after  the  birth  of  his 
daughter,  and  his  widow  was  left,  if  not  in  penury,  at  least  with 

48 


378  VICTORIA. 

very  inadequate  means  for  the  proper  education  of  her  child ; 
her  husband  had  died  in  debt,  and  she  was  frequently  reminded 
of  his  obligations.  Her  energy  was  untiring,  however,  and  she 
struggled  successfully  with  aU  the  difficulties  which  beset  her 
jjath.  The  poetess,  L.  E.  L.,  alluded  to  the  discouragements 
under  which  the  duchess  labored,  in  these  lines  : 

"  Oh !    many  a  dark  and  sorrowing  hour 
Thy  widowed  heart  had  known, 
Before  the  bud  became  a  flower — 
The  orphan  on  a  throne." 

Victoria  was  delicate  in  constitution,  and  her  mother's  first 
eflforts  were  directed  to  strengthening  and  invigorating  her 
frame.  She  was  encouraged  to  ramble  in  the  fields,  to  romp  in 
the  play-ground,  and  walk  upon  the  sea-shore.  She  sat  by  her 
mother  at  her  meals,  and  was  allowed  none  but  the  simplest 
kinds  of  food.  They  were  rarely  seen  apart ;  they  slept  in  the 
same  apartment ;  the  mother,  when  not  herself  the  teacher,  was 
nevertheless  present  at  the  teachings  of  others,  sharing  as  it 
were  the  tasks  and  amusements  of  her  daughter.  The  physical, 
intellectual  and  moral  training  of  Victoria,  during  her  childhood, 
wei'e  such  as  a  devoted  mother,  a  cultivated  woman,  and  a  sin- 
cere Christian,  already  awake  to  the  possible  transcendent  des- 
tiny of  her  child,  and  consequently  keenly  sensible  of  her  own 
responsibility,  could  either  herself  afford,  or  obtain  at  the  hands 
of  persons  specially  qualified  for  the  duty.  The  following  pas- 
sage has  reference  to  Victoria,  at  the  age  of  five  years  : 

"  When  first  I  saw  the  pretty  and  pale  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Kent,  she  was  fatherless.  Her  fair  light  form  was 
sporting,  in  all  the  redolence  of  youth  and  health,  on  the  noble 
sands  of  old  Ramsgate.  It  was  a  fine  summer  day,  not  so  warm 
as  to  induce  languor,  but  yet  warm  enough  to  render  the  fanning 
breezes  from  the  laughing  tides,  as  they  broke  gently  on  the 
sands,  agreeable  and  refreshing.     Her  dress  was  simple  ;  a  plam 


VICTORIA.  379 

straw  bonnet,  with  a  wHte  ribbon  round  the  crown,  a  colored 
mushii  frock,  looking  gay  and  cheerful,  and  as  pretty  a  pair  of 
shoes  on  as  pretty  a  pair  of  feet  as  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen 
from  China  to  Kamschatka.  Her  mother  was  her  companion, 
and  a  venerable  man,  whose  name  is  graven  on  every  human 
heart  that  loves  its  species,  and  whose  undying  fame  is  recorded 
in  that  eternal  book  where  the  actions  of  men  are  written  with 
the  pen  of  truth,  walked  by  her  parent's  side,  and  doubtless  gave 
that  counsel  and  offered  that  advice,  which  none  were  more  able 
to  offer  than  himself — for  it  was  William  Wilberforce.  His 
kindly  eyes  followed,  with  parental  interest,  every  footstep  of  the 
young  creature,  as  she  advanced  to,  and  then  retreated  from,  the 
coming  tide,  and  it  was  evident  that  his  mind  and  his  heart  were 
full  of  the  future,  whilst  they  were  interested  in  the  present." 

When  Victoria  was  six  years  old,  her  mother  appointed  the 
Rev.  George  Davys  her  preceptor  ;  his  fidelity  and  zeal  proved 
the  wisdom  of  her  choice.  The  Baroness  Lehzen  was  associated 
with  him  as  instructress.  Up  to  her  eleventh  year  the  prin- 
cess was  totally  unaware  of  her  claims  upon  the  succession,  or 
of  any  possible  concatenation  of  events  by  which  her  condition 
in  life  would  be  materially  changed.  In  1827,  the  Duke  of 
Toi'k  died,  and  in  1830,  King  George  followed  him;  the  acces- 
sion of  King  William,  whose  two  daughters  were  already  dead, 
placed  her  next  the  throne.  Her  education  was  now  such  as 
would  best  fit  her  to  wear  the  crown.  Without  overtasking  her 
mental  or  physical  energies,  her  instructors  plied  her  with  every 
species  of  knowledge  by  which  a  queen  might  profit.  They  read 
together  the  numerous  treatises  which  had  been  written — for  the 
most  part  in  the  continental  languages — upon  the  education  of  a 
princess.  She  was  made  familiar  with  the  lives  and  actions  of  all 
who  had  conferred  honor  upon  the  human  race,  whether  as  sove- 
reigns, statesmen,  scholars,  inventors,  discoverers,  benefactors, 
poets  or  divines.  While  yet  in  her  teens  and  not  yet  in  her  major- 
ity, she  spoke  English,  French  and  German  with  equal  fluency  ; 


380  VICTORIA. 

she  read  Italian,  and  translated  Virgil  and  Horace ;  she  was  a  pro- 
ficient in  mathematics,  and  showed  decided  talent  in  all  branches 
connected  with  the  science  of  numbers.  Accomplishments  were 
not  neglected,  and  the  princess  danced,  sang,  and  sketched  from 
nature.  She  laid  aside  a  portion  of  her  pocket  money,  to  aid  her 
mother  in  gradually  extinguishing  the  indebtedness  of  her  father. 
A  sound  religious  training  lay  at  the  base  of  the  fabric  thus 
reared,  and  Victoria  was  made  to  reahze  that  as  she  was  to  reign 
over  a  nation  professedly  Christian,  she  must  prove,  by  her  pri- 
vate conduct  and  in  her  domestic  life,  her  right  to  the  glorious 
title  of  Defender  of  the  Faith. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen,  Victoria  had  a  companion  in  her  studies 
and  recreations — a  boy  four  months  younger  than  herself — Al- 
bert-Franz- August-Karl-Emanuel,  the  second  son  of  the  Duke  of 
Saxe-Coburg,  and  her  own  cousin,  on  her  mother's  side.  The 
friendship  of  cousins  is  matter  of  tradition,  and  Victoria  and  Al- 
bert are  believed  to  have  presented,  in  their  own  example,  a 
fresh  illustration  of  its  truth,  by  evincing  a  strong  attachment  at 
this  early  period  of  their  lives.  The  confirmation  of  the  princess 
took  place  in  July,  1835,  at  the  Chapel  Royal,  St.  James's,  the 
royal  family  only  being  present.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
delivered  a  pathetic  and  parental  exhortation,  reminding  Victoria 
of  the  duties  she  must  soon  be  called  upon  to  fulfill,  of  the  respon- 
sibilities her  station  in  life  imposed  upon  her,  and  of  the  struggles 
for  which  she  must  prepare  between  the  allurements  of  the  world 
and  the  claims  of  the  throne.  The  old  king  frequently  shed  tears, 
and  nodded  his  head  in  fervent  assent  to  the  archbishop's  impres- 
sive periods.     The  little  princess  was  herself  dissolved  in  tears. 

Victoria  attained  her  legal  majority  on  the  24th  of  May,  1837  ; 
lier  eighteenth  birthday  was  kept  as  a  general  holiday  through- 
out the  United  Kingdom — the  gracious  anniversary  being  worthily 
commemorated  with  bells,  flowers  and  fire.  Four  weeks  after 
this  event,  upon  the  20th  of  June,  the  King  of  England  died  in 
his  seventy-second  year,  and  the  crown  passed  to  the  line  of  his 


VICTORIA.  381 

younger  brother.  At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Victoria  was 
informed  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  of  the  demise  of  her 
uncle,  and  of  the  vacancy  upon  the  tnrone.  The  sovereignty 
of  the  most  powerful  nation  of  the  earth  lay  at  the  feet  of  a 
girl  of  eighteen.  That  day  Victoria  entered  upon  public  Hfe. 
The  grand  officers  of  state,  the  privy  councillors — a  hundred  or 
more  of  the  highest  nobility  in  the  realm — assembled  in  Ken- 
sington Palace.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  the  pen  and  pencil 
have  endeavored  in  vain  to  do  justice  to  this  imposing  and  af- 
fecting scene.  The  herald  made  his  portentous  announcement — 
' '  We  publish  and  proclaim  that  the  high  and  mighty  princess  Al- 
exandrina  Victoria,  is  the  only  lawful  and  liege  lady,  and,  by  the 
Grace  of  God,  Queen  of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith."  At  these  formidable  words,  so 
fraught  with  blessing  or  calamity  to  the  fair  young  lady  they  con- 
cerned, she  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck  and  wept 
upon  her  bosom.  Her  uncle  of  Sussex,  the  last  and  youngest  of  her 
father's  brothers,  was  about  to  kneel  and  take  the  oath  of  allegi- 
ance, when  she  playfully  but  resolutely  stopped  him,  saying, 
"Do  not  kneel,  uncle  ;  for  I  am  still  Victoria,  your  niece."  The 
Duchess  of  Kent,  lately  the  mother  of  a  princess  royal,  now  the 
mother  of  a  queen,  fell  gracefully  into  the  second  rank,  and 
from  that  time  forward  treated  her  daughter  as  a  superior,  whom 
etiquette  required  her  to  approach  with  respect  and  address 
with  deference.  If  the  queen  needed  advice,  henceforward,  she 
was  to  ask  it  of  her  councillors,  not  of  her  family. 

One  month  later,  on  the  17th  of  July,  Victoria  made  her 
first  public  appearance  as  sovereign  of  the  nation.  She  pro- 
rogued Parliament  in  person,  addressing  the  members  of  the 
two  chambers  from  the  throne  in  the  House  of  Lords.  Her 
pallor  betrayed  her  emotion,  but  her  manner  was  composed, 
and  her  bearing  at  once  child-Uke  and  royal.  Her  voice  was 
distinct,  though  tremulous.  It  was  a  proud  day  for  Great  Brit- 
ain ;  the  people  unreservedly  gave  away  their  hearts,  the  prey 


382  VICTORIA. 

to  love  at  first  sight.     And  they  have  never  regretted  the  spon- 
taneous, precipitate  act. 

One  of  the  first  measures  of  Victoria  was  to  pay  from  her  own 
privy  purse  the  remaining  debts  of  her  father — those  wliich  she 
and  her  mother  had  been  unable  by  their  united  economies  to 
hquidate.  The  people  contrasted  the  queen's  conscientious  ap- 
plication of  her  resources  with  the  conduct  of  her  grandfather, 
George  III.,  vmder  similar  circumstances.  His  father,  Frederick, 
Prmce  of  Wales,  left  behind  him  numerous  obligations,  not  one 
farthing  of  which  did  George,  on  coming  to  the  throne,  think 
proper  to  discharge. 

Victoria  I.  was  crowned  in  Westminster  Abbey  on  the  28tli 
of  June,  1838.  The  venerable  pile  was  dressed  with  unusual, 
unprecedented  splendor.  Every  nation  in  Christendom,  and 
several  out  of  its  pale,  had  sent  their  representatives,  and  the 
maiden  queen  was  "  consecrated" — to  use  the  solemn  continental 
expression — in  the  midst  of  the  most  imposing  and  gorgeous 
assemblage  which  this  century  has  witnessed,  whether  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  or  the  Kremlin  of  Moscow. 
Victoria  kneeled  and  devoutly  implored  the  divine  guidance  for 
herself  and  a  blessing  for  her  people.  From  that  time  forward, 
she  has  discharged  with  exemplary  fidelity  every  duty  which 
devolved  ujDon  her  as  a  queen,  and  has  sought  to  enlarge  the 
sphere  of  her  duties  as  a  woman,  that  by  discharging  those  also, 
she  might  offer  a  model  to  the  mothers,  wives  and  sisters  of  her 
subjects.  She  felt  how  imperatively  needed  was  an  example  of 
strict  virtue  on  the  British  throne. 

One  of  the  royal  spectators  of  the  ceremony  of  the  coro- 
nation was  His  Serene  Highness  the  Duke  of  Saxe  and  cousin 
of  Coburg,  of  whom  we  have  already  spoken.  He  had  come 
with  his  father,  Ernest- Anton-Karl  Ludwig,  who  had  lately  con- 
tracted a  second  marriage.  They  were  both  favorites  at  court  and 
popular  with  the  people.  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  be- 
fore— persistent,  lengthening,  sunset  shadows.     Rumor  diligently 


V  I  C  T  0  E  I  A  .  383 

coupled  the  cousins  of  Brunswick  and  Gotha.  Tlie  prince  went 
to  Italy  for  the  winter,  but  was  not  forgotten  at  Buckingham 
Palace  during  his  absence.  The  rumor  crept  into  the  public 
prints,  but  was  at  once  indignantly  denied  by  the  ministerial 
journals — a  measure  which  naturally  gave  it  greater  currency 
than  ever.  Prince  Albert  found  the  portrait  of  the  Queen 
awaiting  him  on  his  return  to  Coburg,  and  in  October,  1839, 
he  embarked  upon  his  third  visit  to  Loudon.  All  doubts  were 
now  set  at  rest,  the  ministerial  journals  held  their  peace,  and 
in  the  following  month  the  queen  summoned  her  privy  council, 
and  communicated  to  them  her  intentions  in  regard  to  a  matri- 
monial alliance.  The  Tenth  of  February  witnessed  the  royal 
wedding,  and  the  service  read  alike  over  rich  and  poor  united 
the  Queen  and  the  Prince  Consort.  Few  princesses,  and  cer- 
tainly very  few  queens,  have  ever  been  able  to  assert,  as  the 
Queen  of  England  may,  that  her  choice  was  so  guided  by  incli- 
nation and  preference,  that  her  exalted  rank  was  in  no  wise 
consulted  ;  and  that,  had  she  always  remained  the  daughter 
of  a  duke,  her  course  would  stiU  have  been  the  same.  There 
is,  in  fact,  not  the  slightest  reason  to  doubt,  that  had  she  never 
come  to  the  throne,  she  would  stiU  have  married  her  cousin. 
Fortunately,  however,  the  love  match  was  not  without  its  politi- 
cal expediency,  or  at  least  presented  no  international  disadvan- 
tages, or  the  privy  council  might  possibly  have  interfered. 

By  the  regularity  with  which,  at  reasonable  intervals,  Queen 
Victoria  has  become,  eight  successive  times,  a  mother,  she  has 
furnished  a  theme  of  innocent  mirth  to  thousands,  and  has  caused 
weak  political  economists  to  groan  over  the  frightful  extrava- 
gance necessitated  by  so  many  royal  christenings.  Her  subjects, 
however,  see  abundant  cause  for  rejoicing  in  the  bounteous 
dispensation.  The  first  born — Victoria  Adelaide  Louisa  Mary, 
Princess  Royal  of  England,  and  for  a  time  presumptive  heiress 
to  the  throne — has,  in  this  present  year,  been  happily  married 
to  Prince  Frederick  William  of  Prussia.      The  second,  Albert 


384  VICTORIA. 

Edward,  Prince  of  Wales  and  heir  apparent,  now  in  his  eighteenth 
year,  is  said  to  have  lately  caused  his  mother  some  anxiety  by 
the  zest  with  which  he  enters  into  the  pleasures  natural  to  his 
age.  The  French  ambassador  might  administer  consolation  in  the 
words  with  which  he  lately  sought  to  soothe  the  enraged  Minister 
of  State,  at  Paris,  whose  son  had  run  away  with  an  actress  and  a 
million:  "  Mon  Dieu,  il  faut  que  jeunesse  se  passe!"  "Good 
gracious,  young  men  will  be  young  men !"  And  so  will  Princes 
Royal. 

Upon  the  birth  of  this  son,  the  queen  caused  his  duchy  and 
other  property  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  responsible  commis- 
sioners, to  be  held,  protected  and  judiciously  managed  for  him 
tiU  he  should  come  of  age.  Here  again  the  nation  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  contrasting  the  conduct  of  Victoria  with  that  of  George 
TIL,  who,  upon  the  birth  of  his  first  son,  laid  hands  upon  the 
Duchy  of  Cornwall  and  aU  other  property  to  which  he  was 
entitled,  appropriated  the  rents  and  proceeds,  and,  instead  of 
accounting  for  them  to  him,  when  he  attained  his  majority,  sent 
him  to  demand  a  settlement  from  Parliament.  The  contrast 
is  rendered  still  more  striking,  when  it  is  remembered  that  the 
income  of  Victoria  is  hardly  more  than  half  that  of  George  III. 

Of  the  remaining  children  of  her  majesty,  the  world  knows 
little  more  than  their  names.  Alice  Maud  Mary  was  born  in 
April,  1843  ;  Alfred  Ernest  in  August,  1844  ;  Helena  Augusta 
Victoria  in  May,  1846  ;  Louisa  Carolina  Alberta  in  March,  1848  ; 
Arthur  Patrick  William  Albert  in  May,  1850,  and  Leopold  in 
May,  1853.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  this  large 
family  group  is  one  of  the  best  guided  and  trained  in  England, 
not  altogether  because  they  are  the  offspring  of  the  queen,  and 
may  command  the  best  instruction,  but  because  they  are  the 
children  of  Victoria,  and  claim,  by  inheritance,  the  nurture  of  one 
of  the  best  of  mothers. 

The  technical  duties  of  the  queen  are  few  and  easily  dis- 
charged.    She  opens  and  prorogues  parUament,  in  language  of 


VICTORIA.  385 

course  not  her  own,  but  that  of  her  constitutional  advisers.  She 
affixes  her  signature  to  bills  which  have  passed  through  the 
previous  stages  of  enactment.  She  holds  and  exercises  the  par- 
doning power,  using  but  not  abusing  it — never  allowing  a  false 
sympathy  or  a  dangerous  facility  to  interfere  with  the  due  course 
of  law,  or  thwart  the  ends  of  justice.  It  is  her  province  to  sign 
the  death-warrants  of  persons  condemned  to  die,  but  of  this 
painful  duty  she  has,  at  her  request,  been  relieved.  In  short, 
the  prescribed  functions  of  an  Enghsh  sovereign  are  so  entirely  a 
matter  of  form  and  routine,  that  a  queen  is  as  well  able  to 
j^erform  them  as  a  king,  and  one  queen  as  another.  It  is  not  as 
a  ruler,  but  as  an  example,  not  as  the  head  of  the  state,  but  as 
the  head  of  society,  that  Victoria's  name  will  be  forever  held  in 
affectionate  remembrance  by  her  people. 

The  sovereign  may  choose  the  manner  in  which  he  will 
execute  this  part  of  his  mission.  It  is  at  the  option  of  the  king 
or  queen  to  set  the  fashion  of  a  lax  morality  and  a  pliant  con- 
science ;  the  monarch  may  freely  offer  to  the  world  the  revolting 
spectacle  of  profligacy  on  the  throne  and  pollution  in  the  palace. 
He  has  no  accounts  to  render,  and  is  amenable  to  no  laws.  As 
if  she  regarded  this  immunity  but  as  an  incentive  to  a  more 
conscientious  ordering  of  her  private  life,  Victoria's  conduct  has 
in  every  phase  and  situation  been  such  that  her  acts  might  safely 
be  subjected  to  an  immediate  and  searching  scrutiny.  She  has 
been  the  model  of  female  royalty.  She  has  imparted  dignity  to 
her  court,  and  has  invested  even  fashion  with  respectability.  It 
is  but  rendering  justice,  however,  to  her  mental  qualifications,  to 
state  that  she  has  on  several  occasions  differed  from  her  council- 
lors upon  affairs  of  state,  and  that  whenever  she  has  insisted  that 
deference  should  be  paid  to  her  personal  will,  the  event  has  shown 
the  superior  wisdom  of  her  opinion. 

With  the  occupations  of  the  queen — those  which  belong  to 
her  public  life — the  reader  is  doubtless  already  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted.    She  regulates  the  etiquette  of  the  court ;  she  gives 

49 


386  VICTORIA. 

the  sanction  and  countenance  of  her  presence  to  such  national, 
industrial  or  agricultural  enterprises  as  seem  entitled  to  the  honor  ; 
she  shows  herself  to  the  people  on  occasions  of  festivity,  and  in 
the  pageantry  of  an  official  ceremony  or  national  rejoicing,  is  her- 
self the  central  and  conspicuous  figure.  She  receives  and  returns 
the  visits  of  foreign  sovereigns.  She  cherishes  art  and  artists, 
not  lavishing  thousands  upon  those  already  favored  and  flourish- 
ing, hut  seeking  to  encourage  by  timely  approbation  and  patron- 
age those  whose  talents  render  them  worthy  of  it,  and  whose 
youth  or  obscurity  makes  such  recognition  valuable.  She  pen- 
sions such  persons  as  seem  to  her  to  have  a  claim,  not  so  much 
upon  the  nation's  public  bounty  as  upon  the  queen's  privy  purse. 
She  is  a  regular  attendant  at  religious  service.  She  is  liberal 
though  discreet  in  her  charity  ;  her  exjienditure  is  regulated  by 
a  prudent  economy,  and  she  is  never  in  debt.  But  her  peculiar 
and  surpassing  merit  is,  that  she  not  only  furnishes  a  model  for 
all  queens  who  may  come  after  her,  but  that  she  sets  before 
every  woman  in  her  kingdom  a  pattern  which,  in  their  several 
ranks  and  stations  in  life,  they  may  safely  and  honorably  follow. 
Upon  few,  very  few  queens,  may  this  sweeping  eulogy  be  pro- 
nounced. 

The  privacy  of  Victoria's  domestic  hfe  was,  in  the  earlier  years 
of  her  reign — as,  indeed,  it  still  is,  though  in  a  less  degree — 
invaded  by  the  curiosity  of  the  public  and  the  importunity  of  the 
press.  An  army  of  reporters  followed  her  in  midsummer  to  the 
Highlands  and  accompanied  her  in  early  autumn  to  the  Rhine. 
But  her  subjects  were  the  better  and  happier  even  for  the  appa- 
rently trivial  details  of  her  majesty's  vacation  thus  spread  before 
them  in  print.  The  citizen,  confined  to  the  desk  or  imprisoned 
behind  the  counter,  breathed  freer,  though  in  the  close  atmo- 
sphere of  London  in  July,  as  he  read  of  the  queen's  leisure 
among  the  zephyrs  at  Blair  Atholl,  Glen  Tilt  or  Balmoral  ;  of  the 
national  pibroch  played  by  the  royal  piper  beneath  her  majesty's 
window  ;  of  the  sprig  of  fresh  heather  presented  to  her  as  she 


VICTORIA.  387 

awoke  ;  of  the  glass  of  cold  spring  water  with  which  she  com- 
menced the  day's  libations ;  of  her  horsemanship  upon  a  Shetland 
pony  ;  of  her  unobtrusive  worship  in  a  village  church  ;  of  her 
participation  in  the  excellent  sport  of  deerstalking,  and  of  her 
delicate  sippings  of  a  beverage  which,  were  we  speaking  of  a  fox- 
hunter  or  a  bagman,  we  would  call  Highland  whisky,  but  as  we 
have  reference  to  a  lady  and  a  queen,  we  will  designate  as  moun- 
tain dew.  The  same  citizen,  cloyed  with  gratification  at  his  sove- 
reign's holidays  spent  in  her  own  realms,  was  the  next  year 
flattered  in  his  national  pride  by  a  contemplation  of  her  majesty 
abroad.  He  saw  the  princes  of  the  German  Confederation  cluster 
to  meet  her  in  the  vaUey  of  the  Rhine — Brunswick  and  Saxe  and 
Coburg  and  Holstein  ;  he  saw  Metternich  rush  post-haste  from 
Vienna  to  Nassau,  to  administer  the  hospitalities  of  his  bacchana- 
lian realm,  and  dispense  to  kings,  princes  and  grand  dukes,  his 
precious  vintage  of  Johannisberg.  He  observed  with  complacency 
that  among  the  assembled  monarchs  the  Queen  of  England  was 
by  far  the  most  powerful  and  the  most  respected.  As  he  rejoiced 
at  her  majesty's  freedom  from  care  and  the  trammels  of  court 
etiquette,  and  thus  took  pleasure  in  her  absence,  so  he  was 
delighted  at  her  return,  that  he  might  bask  again  in  the  sunshine 
of  her  presence. 

If  the  queen  is  loved  at  home,  she  is  admired  abroad.  In 
America  there  exists  a  more  profound  and  abiding  respect  for 
Victoria  than  perhaps  for  any  other  living  person.  A  practical 
people,  we  recognize  and  appreciate  the  value  of  her  example  to 
rulers  and  the  ruled.  It  is  a  striking  commentary  upon  our  polit- 
ical consistency,  that  we  acknowledge  and  pay  homage  to  virtue 
and  merit  in  a  hereditary  sovereign,  and  proverbially  scrutinize, 
with  little  regard  to  their  sohd  qualifications,  the  claims  of  our 
own  elective  officers.  Who  shaU  reconcile  our  enthusiastic 
reverence  for  the  virtuous  administration  of  a  woman  raised  to 
power  by  the  accident  of  rank,  and  the  constitutional  levity 
and  indifference  with  which  we  pronounce  upon  the  fitness  of 


388  VICTORIA. 

those  whom  we  are  to  promote  to  office  by  the  exercise  of  our 
birthright  ? 

The  Enghsh  are  unfortunate,  in  one  respect,  in  their  national 
anthem  and  their  j^iitriotic  lyrics — they  can  be  sung  by  no  one 
but  themselves.  There  is  Httle  in  the  Marseillaise  which  does 
violence  to  the  feelings  or  the  pride  of  other  nations,  and  of  late 
years  Americans  have  as  fervently  joined  in  the  chorus  as  the 
French — in  fact,  in  view  of  certain  contingencies,  much  more  so. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  Star-spangled  Banner  in  which  all  Europe 
might  not  join  ;  it  prays  only  that  the  flag  of  the  country  may 
continue  to  float  over  the  land  where  it  is  now  acknowledged. 
There  is  but  one  line  in  the  two  English  anthems  to  which  we  can 
with  propriety  assent.  We  can  hardly  be  expected  to  express 
the  desire,  in  melodious  cadence,  that  Britannia  may  rule  the 
waves,  as  we  take  too  deep  an  interest  in  our  own  weak,  but 
truly  gallant  navy  ;  nor  that  the  queen's  enemies  may  be  ' '  scat- 
tered," as,  unfortunately,  we  may  yet  be,  politically,  included 
among  them  ;  we  cannot  call  upon  Providence  to  "confound  the 
politics,"  or  "frustrate  the  knavish  tricks,"  of  all  nations  besides 
Great  Britain,  as  we  might  be  saying  a  bad  word  for  a  portion  of 
our  own  diplomacy  ;  but  one  line  we  may  repeat  as  loudly  as  the 
most  loyal  Englishman,  and  in  its  sentiment  we  may  and  do  as 
heartily  concur — God  save  the  Queen  ! 


EUGENIE. 


In  the  month  of  January,  1853,  a  perplexing  rumor  startled 
the  Parisians.  The  Emperor  Louis  Napoleon  had  lately  been 
at  Compibgne,  hunting  the  stag  and  paying  court  to  a  Spanish 
countess.  At  this  period,  the  private  life  of  their  sovereign  was 
such  as  to  afford  the  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis  plentiful  topics 
of  scandal,  and  to  exert  a  decidedly  unfavorable  effect  upon  the 
character  of  any  woman  to  whom  he  showed  attention.  Little  was 
known  of  the  Spanish  lady  who  was  now  the  object  of  his  suit  ; 
she  was  said  to  be  of  mixed  parentage,  and  it  was  asserted  that 
her  Scottish  and  Spanish  descent  were  plainly  indicated,  the  one 
by  her  blue  eyes,  the  other  by  her  olive  skin.  Her  character 
was  disparagingly  spoken  of,  not  that  anything  whatever  to  her 
discredit  was  known,  but  because  she  was  the  guest  of  an 
unmarried  man,  and  one  whose  dissolute  habits  were  matter 
of  notoriety.  The  public  regarded  her,  however,  with  Uttle 
interest,  supposing  her  merely  a  candidate  for  a  dubious  honor, 
and  not  for  an  instant  supposing  that  his  majesty  was  this  time 
in  earnest. 

Suddenly,  the  report  was  spread  that  Louis  Napoleon  was  to 
marry  the  lady  in  question,  whom,  still  according  to  report,  he 
was  unable  to  win  upon  other  terms.     The  Parisians  wiU  long 


390  EUGENIE 

remember  the  explosion  of  discontent  which  was  the  immediate 
consequence  of  these  tidings,  which  were  soon  after  authenticated. 
In  all  classes  of  society,  the  opposition  was  profound  and  violent. 
The  exasperation  and  disgust  of  the  city  were  manifested  in  every 
possible  form.  The  ministers  handed  in  their  resignations  ;  specu- 
lators took  the  alarm  and  sold  their  stocks  at  a  ruinous  loss  ; 
epigrammatists  railed  and  scandal-mongers  tattled.  The  dead 
walls  in  the  faubourgs  were  found  defaced  in  the  morning  by 
daubs  and  doggerel,  done  over  night  in  chalk  and  charcoal  ;  the 
lithographers  issued  roundelays  in  halting  verse,  and  for  a  time 
the  poetasters  flourished.  It  became  the  fashion  for  persons  who 
had  a  reputation  for  facetiousness  to  preserve,  to  go  about  with 
a  pin,  with  which  they  pretended  to  prick  themselves,  that  they 
might  wake  up  and  find  it  a  ridiculous  dream.  The  emperor's 
advisers  reasoned  with  him  in  vain  ;  his  enemies  rejoiced  in  con- 
templating the  possible  consequences  of  so  serious  a  mistake. 
No  woman  ever  received  a  welcome  so  chilling  from  a  i^eople 
whose  sovereign  she  was  to  become  ;  and  no  woman  ever  issued 
so  triumphantly  from  a  distressing  ordeal.  We  have  spoken 
without  concealment  of  the  spirit  and  temper  with  which  the 
Parisians  were  disposed,  at  the  outset,  to  regard  the  young 
Spaniard,  that  we  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  chronicling,  with 
equal  impartiality,  the  amiable  processes  by  which  she  has  con- 
quered their  prejudices  and  won  their  cordial  sympathy. 

On  Saturday,  the  22d  of  January,  Louis  Napoleon  received 
the  Council  of  State,  the  Senate  and  Legislative  body,  at  the 
Tuileries,  and  formally  announced  to  them  his  intended  marriage. 
From  his  address  delivered  on  this  occasion,  we  extract  the  pas- 
sages referring  especially  to  the  lady  of  his  choice  : 

"Messieurs: 

"I  yield  to  the  wish  so  often  expressed  by  the  country, 
in  announcing  to  you  my  marriage. 

"The  alliance  which  I  contract  is  not  in  accordance  with  the 


EUGENIE.  391 

traditional  requirements  of  our  national  policy,  and  therein  lies 
its  advantage.  France,  by  her  successive  revolutions,  has  been 
often  abruptly  separated  from  the  rest  of  Europe  ;  a  wise  govern- 
ment will  seek  to  restore  her  to  the  pale  of  the  ancient  mon- 
archies. But  this  result  will  be  more  surely  attained  by  a  frank 
and  straightforward  pohcy,  and  by  loyal  conduct,  than  by  regal 
alliances,  which  create  a  false  security,  and  often  substitute 
family  interests  for  those  of  the  nation.  Moreover,  the  example 
of  the  past  has  implanted  a  superstition  in  the  minds  of  the 
people.  It  cannot  be  forgotten  that  for  seventy  years  foreign 
princesses  have  ascended  the  throne  only  to  behold  their  race 
dispossessed  by  war  or  revolution.  One  woman  alone  seemed 
to  bring  happiness  with  her,  and  to  Hve  longer  than  the  others 
in  the  memory  of  the  people ;  and  that  woman,  the  kind  and 
amiable  wife  of  General  Bonaparte,  was  not  of  royal  blood. 
.  .  .  .  When,  in  the  presence  of  Europe,  a  man  is  raised, 
by  the  force  of  a  new  principle,  to  a  height  equal  to  that  of 
the  oldest  dynasty,  it  is  not  by  seeking  to  give  a  character 
of  antiquity  to  his  escutcheon,  and  to  introduce  himself,  at  all 
costs,  into  a  family,  that  he  consoUdates  his  position.  It  is 
rather  by  ever  remembering  his  origin,  by  preserving  his  distinct 
character,  and  by  frankly  adopting  before  the  world  the  title  of 
PARVENU — a  glorious  title,  when  obtained  by  the  suffrages  of  a 
free  people.  Thus  obliged  to  depart  from  precedents  "followed 
to  the  present  day,  my  marriage  became  a  private  matter,  and 
nothing  remained  but  the  choice  of  the  person. 

"  She  who  is  the  object  of  my  preference  is  of  distinguished 
birth.  French  in  heart,  by  education,  by  the  recollection  of  the 
blood  shed  by  her  father  in  the  cause  of  the  empire,  she  still 
possesses  the  advantage,  as  a  Spaniard,  of  having  no  family  in 
France  upon  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  bestow  honors  and 
fortune.  Her  mental  qualities  will  render  her  the  ornament  of 
the  throne  ;  her  courage  will  render  her  its  support  in  the  hour 
of  danger.     A  Catholic,  she  wiU  join  me  in  my  prayers  for  the 


392  EUGENIE. 

happiness  of  France.  She  will,  in  short,  I  trust,  by  her  grace 
and  goodness,  seek  to  revive  the  virtues  exhibited  in  the  same 
position  by  the  Empress  Josephine. 

"I  come,  then,  gentlemen,  to  announce  to  France  that  I 
have  chosen  a  woman  whom  I  love  and  respect,  in  preference  to 
one  who  would  be  comparatively  unknown  to  me,  and  an  alliance 
with  whom  would  have  presented  advantages  not  unmingled  with 
sacrifices.  Without  disdaining  any  one,  I  yield  to  my  inchnations, 
after  having  taken  counsel  of  my  reason  and  my  convictions.  In 
placing  domestic  happiness  and  the  qualities  of  the  heart  above 
dynastic  prejudices  and  the  calculations  of  ambition,  I  shall  not, 
I  am  sure,  be  less  strong  by  being  more  free. 

"I  shall  soon,  at  Notre  Dame,  present  the  empress  to  the 
people  and  the  army.  The  confidence  they  have  in  me  assures 
me  of  their  sympathy  ;  and  you,  gentlemen,  when  you  have 
learned  to  appreciate  her  whom  I  have  chosen,  will  acknowledge 
that  on  this  occasion  also  I  have  been  inspired  by  Providence." 

This  address,  which — in  the  passages  we  have  not  quo- 
ted— was  not  without  unfortunate  allusions,  produced  a  most 
favorable  effect  upon  the  pviblic  mind.  It  is  true  that  the  Paris- 
ians expressed  the  opinion,  that  if  Louis  Napoleon  were  so 
strongly  prepossessed  in  favor  of  a  marriage  with  a  lady  of 
merely  patrician  birth,  he  should  not  have  suffered  himself  to 
be  rejected  by  so  many  royal  and  grandducal  houses.  But  as 
the  several  repulses  which  he  had  undergone  were  not  known 
beyond  Paris,  the  effect  of  the  speech  was  eminently  salutary 
upon  the  country  at  large.  The  step  appeared  bold  and  gener- 
ous to  those  who  were  ignorant  that  he  had,  in  a  measure,  been 
goaded  into  it  by  a  state  of  things  which  had  obtained  the  name 
of  a  "matrimonial  blockade."  The  French  nation  was,  in  fact, 
gratified  that  the  emperor  possessed  the  power  to  set  his  foot 
upon  the  shackles  of  routine,  and  that  he  was  thus  enabled  to 
espouse  a  countess,  from  inclination,  while  the  first  Napoleon 


EUGENIE. 


393 


had  felt  himself  compelled  to  divorce  his  wife,  that  he  might 
marry  an  archduchess,  from  policy. 

Eugenie  de  Montijo,  Countess  de  Teba,  was  born  in  Granada, 
in  the  year  1827.  The  following  brief  table  will  give  a  more 
distinct  view  of  her  descent  than  could  be  furnished  in  any  other 
form  : 


ON    THE    father's   SIDE. 

The  FiEST  Count  de  Teba, 
created  by  Ferdinand,  for  va- 
liant conduct  before  Granada, 
in  1492. 


ON    THE    mother's   SIDE. 


Me.  Kiekpateiok,  of  Con- 
LeatL,  Scotland,  married  to 
Miss  Wilson,  of  Gallaway. 


Palafox,  his  lineal  descend- 
ant, Commander  of  Saragossa 
in  1808-9. 


William  Kiekpateiok,  their 

son,  married,  at  Malaga,  to  Ma- 
j  ria,  eldest  daughter  of  tlie  Ba- 
ron Grivegnde. 


CoTTfTT  DE  MONTIJO  MaEIA     MaNTTELA,    | 

and  Teba,  his  son,    ^^^^^^'^  *°  their  eldest  daughter. 


Eugenie  de  Montijo,  the  eldest 
of  two  daughters. 


M'Ue  de  Montijo  was  educated  partly  in  Spain  and  partly  in 
France.  She  lost  her  father  at  the  age  of  twelve  years,  after 
which  event  she  was  rarely  separated  from  her  mother.  She  en- 
tered society  at  an  early  age,  and  was  for  a  long  time  the  orna- 
ment of  the  ball  rooms  of  Madrid  and  Paris — for  she  remained 
unmarried  till  her  twenty-sixth  year.  The  associations  of  her 
mother  were  with  the  best  families  of  Madrid,  although,  being 
merely  the  daughter  of  a  consul  at  Malaga,  much  opposition  had 
been  made  to  her  marriage  with  the  Count  de  T6ba.     The  latter, 

50 


394  EUGENIE. 

being  a  grandee  of  Spain,  was  obliged  to  obtain  the  consent  of 
the  king  before  he  couki  wed  the  more  humble  object  of  his 
affections.  But  the  Scottish  heralds  set  to  work  with  such  dili- 
gence and  produced  so  satisfactory  a  pedigree  for  Miss  Kirk- 
patrick,  that  Ferdinand  VII.  exclaimed,  after  perusing  it,  "  Let 
the  good  man  marry  the  daughter  of  Fingal !"  Fingal's  grand- 
daughter was  destined  to  become  the  Empress  of  the  French. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  a  correct  idea  of  Eugenie's  perso- 
nal appearance  in  words  ;  the  difficulty  of  the  task  will,  however, 
be  compensated  for  by  the  pleasure  afforded  by  the  use,  in  this 
case,  happily,  permissible,  of  the  present  tense — a  charming  tense 
in  which  to  wi'ite,  when  a  woman's  beauty  is  the  theme.  Her 
majesty  is  slightly  above  the  middle  height ;  her  shoulders  are 
large,  but  exquisitely  moulded.  Her  head  is  small,  her  bust  full, 
her  neck  long,  but  swanlike,  and  in  its  movements  inimitably 
graceful.  Her  forehead  is  high  and  broad  ;  her  eyes,  which  are 
by  no  means  large,  are  greyish-blue,  and  set  unusually  close  to- 
gether, the  eyebrows  being  beautifully  arched.  Her  mouth  is 
small,  her  nose  thin  and  slightly  aquiline.  Altogether,  her  face 
is  small,  but  derives  force  from  the  upper  part  of  the  head,  which  is 
broad  and  intellectual,  yet  graceful.  On  the  whole,  these  ele- 
ments scarcely  seem  to  constitute  personal  beauty  of  a  high 
order  ;  the  secret  of  Eugenie's  name  and  fame,  as  the  most  lovely 
occupant  of  a  European  throne,  lies  in  that  ethereal,  spiritual  en- 
dowment called  expression.  The  prevailing  characteristic  of  this 
expression  is  pensiveness,  mingled  with  gentleness  and  extreme 
sensibility.  She  has  made  more  friends  by  her  grace  than  Louis 
Napoleon  has  made  enemies  by  his  artillery.  The  simplicity  of 
her  manners,  coupled  with  her  chai-ms  of  face,  become  in  time, 
by  a  process  almost  inscrutable,  impressed  on  the  mind  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  affect  the  imagination,  and  the  beholder  seems  to 
discover  traits  beyond  mere  beauty — strength,  firmness,  and  dig- 
nity of  character — that  strength,  lirmness,  and  dignity  which  be- 
long to  womanly  grace,  greatness  and  goodness. 


EUGENIE.  395 

The  civil  marriage  of  the  emperor  and  M'lle  do  Montijo  took 
place  on  the  iiight  of  Saturday,  the  29th  of  January,  at  the  Tuilc- 
ries,  the  religious  ceremony  being  solemnized  the  next  day  at 
Notre  Dame.     The  population  of  Paris  manifested  the  most  in- 
tense curiosity  and  interest  in  the  event,  but  were  exceedingly  • 
sparing  of  their  applause.     The  imperial  carriage  was  received 
everywhere  along   the    route  with    a   hum   of  voices  and  sup- 
pressed exclamations,  but  with  nothing  which  by  any  flight  of 
imagination  could  be  construed  into  enthusiasm.     Her  majesty 
was  still  an  entire  stranger  to  the  people,  and,  thus  unsupported 
by  any  personal  popularity  of  her  own,  her  position  as  the  bride 
elect  of  Louis  Napoleon  gave  her  no  especial  claim  to  a  cordial 
recognition.     The  city  was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  squibs 
and  jibes  which  for  ten  days  had  been  circulating  from  mouth  to 
mouth.     After  the  ceremony,  the  emperor  led  the  empress  to  the 
balcony  of  the  Tuileries,  and,  saluting  the  people,  presented  her 
to  them  as  their  future  sovereign — as  far  as  the  Salic  law  would 
permit.     The  Americans  who  witnessed  the  scene  will  not  soon 
forget  it — for  they  felt  it  to  be  one  of  the  most  painful  they  had 
ever  beheld.     Hardly  a  man  raised  his  voice  or  lifted  his  hat. 
The  emperor  was  visibly  moved,  and  the  empress  seemed  to 
shrink  back  as,  if  chilled  to  the  heart  ;  she  must  have  realized 
that  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  a  multitude  is  a  very  different 
thing   from   awakening   their    sympathy.     Still   the    impression 
which   she   had   made,  during  this   trying  day,  was  eminently 
favorable,    and    the    people    went    to    their    homes    quite    dis- 
posed to  accord  to  the  fair  and  amiable  stranger  that  national 
and  individual  protection  which  she  seemed  by  her  manner  to 
implore. 

Nearly  all  classes  of  society  had  some  reason  to  thank  the 
empress  for  her  indirect  influence  upon  their  pleasures  on  this  oc- 
casion. The  lovers  of  spectacles  were  gratified  by  the  procession, 
the  illuminations,  and  the  gratuitous  performances  at  the  thea- 
tres ;  the  army  by  a  double  ration  of  wine  ;  the  schoolboys  by  a 


396  EUGENIE. 

two  days'  vacation  ;  the  victims  of  the  emperor's  displeasure  by 
the  announcement  of  four  thousand  pardons,  or  recalls  from 
exile  ;  and  the  poor  by  her  majesty's  refusal  of  a  diamond  neck- 
lace, and  her  request  that  the  sum  voted  for  its  purchase  might 
be  spent  in  works  of  benevolence.  A  certain  woman  of  the 
lower  orders  must,  upon  learning  this  charitable  act  of  the  em- 
press, have  regretted  an  unconsidered  expression,  which  she  had 
let  fall  a  day  or  two  before.  She  had  read,  upon  an  official  bul- 
letin, that  the  Municipal  Council  were  to  invest  six  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  jewelry,  and  unphilosophically  coupling  this 
enormous  outlay  with  a  circumstance  which  had  severely  af- 
fected her  at  the  grocer's,  she  exclaimed,  "Why,  that's  why  oil 
has  gone  up  three  cents  a  pound !"  This  is  but  an  instance 
among  thousands  of  the  disposition  manifested,  at  the  outset,  to 
regard  her  majesty  with  distrust,  if  not  with  aversion. 

The  happy  pair  spent  the  honeymoon  at  St.  Cloud,  occasion- 
ally appearing  in  an  open  carriage  upon  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
followed  by  another  carriage  containing  the  four  ladies  of  the 
palace.  The  promenaders  treated  them  with  respect,  with  cour- 
tesy even,  but  until  her  majesty  began  to  assume  an  individual 
character,  and  to  challenge  the  esteem  of  the  nation  for  her  many 
private  virtues,  we  repeat  that  as  the  wife  of  Louis  Napoleon,  she 
was  regarded  with  indifference,  though  without  hostility.  The 
epigrams  at  her  expense  continued,  and  for  one  month  she  was 
the  theme  of  jests  always  telling  but  often  indelicate,  and  gene- 
rally more  remarkable  for  their  ill-nature  than  their  wit.  The 
spectacle  would  have  been  a  melancholy  one,  had  her  good  name 
been  in  the  slightest  degree  damaged  by  it.  Such  was  not  the 
case,  however,  and  the  Parisians  were  soon  glad  to  forget  that 
they  had  treated  her  with  coldness  and  spoken  of  her  with  ob- 
loquy. 

The  empress  at  once  set  about  conciliating,  by  gracious  and 
graceful  acts,  the  good  will  of  the  nation.  As  the  etiquette 
of  the  palace  compelled  her  to  hve  almost  in  isolation,  and  as  she 


EUGENIE.  397 

was  unable  to  inquire  for  herself  into  the  necessities  which  it 
was  her  desire  to  relieve,  her  charities  could  only  be  bestowed 
through  others.  This  circumstance  gave  to  her  benevolent  acts 
a  character  which  benevolence  should  never  have — that  of 
ostentation,  and  an  appearance  of  being  designed  for  effect. 
The  newspapers  in  the  interest  of  the  government  seemed  to  vie 
with  each  other  in  the  effort  to  render  the  generosity  of  the 
empress  odious,  with  such  nauseous  pertinacity  did  they  dwell 
upon  the  theme.  That  she  eventually  triumphed,  even  in  spite 
of  this  unscrupulous  and  injurious  service,  is  not  one  of  her  least 
claims  to  admiration. 

The  empress  made  her  first  appearance,  after  her  marriage, 
before  the  assembled  fashion,  nobility  and  wealth  of  Paris,  on  the 
night  of  the  7th  of  February,  at  a  ball  given  by  the  Senate  to 
their  majesties,  at  the  Luxembourg.  This  was  an  occasion  of 
interest  to  the  ladies,  as  the  great  question  remained  yet  unde- 
cided whether  her  majesty's  taste  in  dress  was  such  as  it  be- 
hooved an  empress  to  possess.  The  question  was  satisfactorily 
settled  that  night ;  her  majesty  was  deliciously  habited  in  white 
satin,  wearing  a  pearl  necklace  around  her  neck  and  violets  in 
her  hair.  No  one  will  at  the  present  day  dispute  her  claim  to 
be  considered  the  first  milliner  of  France  ;  a  claim  in  which, 
perhaps,  her  advisers  and  coadjutors  in  matters  of  taste,  M'Ues 
Vigneron  and  Palmyre,  might  be  recognized  as  entitled  to  their 
share.  She  has,  by  the  natural  effect  of  the  accession  of  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  stimulated  all  the  arts  to  which  female 
charms  are  wont  to  apply  for  extrinsic  embellishment.  Many 
branches  of  trade  and  manufacture  have  revived  under  this 
auspicious  influence.  With  one  fashion  the  name  of  the  empress 
will  be  connected  as  long  as  the  fashion  lasts  ;  and,  in  view  of 
the  many  advantages  claimed  for  it,  and  in  defiance  of  the  whirl- 
wind of  jests  which  it  has  provoked,  exclusively  on  the  part 
of  male  scoffers,  it  is  likely  to  endure  as  long  as  the  generation 
for  which  it  was  invented.     The  English  sovereign  may  proscribe 


398  EUGENIE. 

it,  and  confirmed  punsters  may  riddle  it  with  their  light  artillery, 
but  a  mode  which  her  Graceful  Majesty  has  sanctioned  and 
sanctified  by  her  example,  must  possess  in  itself  elements  of 
durability  which  will  enable  it  to  sm'vive  both  the  opposition  of 
her  sister  queen  and  the  malevolence  of  the  wits. 

Thei-e  are  few  salient  points  in  the  life  of  Eugenie,  since  her 
elevation  to  the  throne.  She  has  in  a  measure  purified  the 
court,  not  raising  it,  of  course,  above  the  ordinary  standard  of 
Parisian  nioraUt}'',  but  at  least  correcting  many  abuses  which  had 
lowered  it  beneath  that  standard.  She  has  visited  the  Fortress 
of  Ham  with  the  emperor,  and  the  apartments  in  which  the 
Pretender  of  Boulogne  was  confined.  She  has  more  than  once 
been  in  imminent  danger  of  death,  exposed  to  missiles  directed 
against  his  majesty,  and  has  always  displayed  courage  and  self- 
possession.  She  has  honored  by  her  presence  the  inauguration 
of  asylums  and  institutions  of  benevolence,  and  has  herself 
endowed  and  assumed  the  financial  responsibility  of  Model  Lodg- 
ing-houses for  the  poor.  She  has  visited  the  Queen  of  England 
at  Windsor  Castle,  and  has  received  her  Britannic  Majesty  at 
Versailles.  She  has  wept  over  the  mutilated  heroes  of  the  Siege 
of  Sebastopol.  She  has  sat  for  her  portrait  to  Vidal,  Winter- 
halter  and  Dubufe.  During  her  summers  spent  at  Biarjritz  or 
Eaux  Bonnes,  where  the  formality  of  a  court  life  may  be,  in  a 
great  measure,  thrown  off,  she  has  interested  herself  personally 
in  the  condition  of  the  humbler  classes,  and  has  given  the  indi- 
gent abundant  cause  to  mention  her  name  with  blessings.  Above 
all,  she  has  given  an  heir  to  the  French  throne — as  far,  that  is, 
as  she  can,  herself,  control  the  succession. 

Eugenie  has  exercised  a  political  influence  which  it  will  be 
the  pleasure  of  the  future  historian  of  the  reign  of  Napoleon  III. 
to  acknowledge  and  his  duty  to  record.  She  has  strengthened 
his  hold  upon  the  throne,  by  endearing  herself  to  the  people. 
She  has,  in  a  degree,  softened  the  rigors  of  his  sway.  By  the 
logic  of  beauty,  by  the  tenderness  of  feeling  so  happily  expressed 


EUGENIE.  399 

in  her  features,  her  air  and  manner,  by  the  force  of  feminine  tact 
and  the  influence  of  a  benevolent  heart,  she  has  secured  for  the 
imperial  throne  that  which,  without  a  woman's  cooperation,  it 
never  would  have  obtained — the  sympathy  of  the  people.  She 
has  reconciled  many  who  would  have  been  won  by  no  other 
means.  She  has  diverted  men's  thoughts  from  perjury  and 
massacre  to  more  agreeable  subjects  of  contemplation.  She  has 
associated,  in  the  mind  of  the  nation,  ideas  which  the  emperor 
would  have  kept  distinct — she  has  coupled  benignity  with  power, 
and  amenity  with  majesty.  The  yoke  is  less  galling  than  it  was, 
and  possibly  may  yet  be  still  further  lightened.  These  results 
have  been  attained  largely  through  the  subtle  but  irresistible 
influence  of  the  personal  appearance,  manner  and  character  of 
the  empress.  The  very  opposite  of  her  sister  queen,  and  inferior 
to  her  in  masculine  force  of  understanding,  it  has  been  given  to 
her  to  exercise,  under  auspices  totally  different  and  upon  a  nation 
having  few  traits  in  common  with  the  English,  an  influence  not 
unlike  that  which  we  have  described  as  exerted  by  Victoria. 
Though  different  in  kind  and  less  in  degree,  the  example  of  the 
foreign  and  adopted  empress  is  not  by  any  means  unworthy  of 
being  favorably  mentioned  in  connection  with  that  of  the  native 
and  legitimate  queen. 

By  asserting  that  she  has  assisted  to  maintain  Louis  Napoleon 
upon  the  throne  and  to  prolong  his  rule  over  the  nation,  we 
do  not  mean  to  claim  that  she  has  rendered  a  service  to  mankind, 
or  that  the  world  in  general  owes  her  a  debt  of  gratitude.  With 
questions  relating  to  the  government  of  France  and  to  the 
means  by  which  Louis  Napoleon  obtained  power,  we  have  no- 
thing to  do  ;  we  wish  simply  to  declare  that  the  empress  has 
discharged  her  duty  to  her  husband  in  a  manner  that  will  cause 
her  to  be  remembered  in  history.  She  has  fulfilled  her  obhga- 
tions,  in  an  exalted  rank  and  upon  an  extended  field,  with  honor 
to  the  country  and  with  credit  to  herself.  In  one  respect 
superior  to  her  model — the  Empress  Josephine — she   is  in  all 


400  EUGENIE. 

others  her  worthy  successor,  and  the  Parisians  of  this  genera- 
tion, like  those  of  the  last  but  one,  may  daily  contemj^late  the 
charming  spectacle  of  goodness,  beauty  and  charity  upon  the 
throne. 


THE    END. 


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